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THE ROYAL OAK 



\N HISTORICAL PLAY, 



^ 



N THREE ACTS. 



£Y WILLIAM^MOND, ESQ. 

author of 

ADRIAN AND ORRIL A-- GUST A VUS VASA — FOUNP- 
LING OF THE FOREST DOUBTFUL SON- 
PEASANT BOY, ^C. ^C» 



\from the first London edition^ of 1811.1 

U.S.A. 




NEVV-YOrvK: 



PUBLISHED BY THE LONGWORTHSj 

At the dramatic Repository, 
Shakipeare- Gallery, 

March— X^X'Z. 



In arranging certain adventures of our second 
Charles for a scenic representation, the strict historic, 
al fact hath occasionally been forsaken, and some in- 
cidents, altogether fanciful, have been introduced. In 
defence of this conduct, the author hath no better plea 
to advance than that of prccedenL In almost every 
age and every counUy, some writer of repute might 
be quoted as an a^ lority. , But it will be sufficient, 
probably, to ment'^n, as the most recent examples, the 
names of Mason and dr. Franklin, who in their lespec- 
tive tragedies of ' Elfrida' and the ' Jilarl of Warvvicky' 
have dramatized portions of national record with at 
least an equal freedom. 



©RAMATIS PERSONiE. 



HAYMARKET. 

King Charles the Second - - Mr. EUiston 

Duke of Hamilton - - - - — Lezces 

Lord Wilmot - _ - - . — Smith 

Lord Derby -..--- — Hodson 

Col ;nel Wyndham - - - - — Eyre 

William Wyndham - - - - — Cooper 

Sir Edward Cavendish - - - — HilUngton 

Sir Thomas Fairfax - - - - — R Jones 

Colone'i Lambton - - - , — Martin 

Captain Reuben ----- — Finn 

Arthur Maythorn - - - - — Mallinson 

Corporal ------- — Grove 

1st SoMier ------ — Shaw 

2d Soldier ^ - — Minion 

Philip — Haughton 

Lady Matilda Wyndham - - Mrs. Glover 

Elinor - — Barnes 

Dame Maythorn ----- — Grove 

Claribel Miss fVheatle^ 



SCENE — in various parts of the west of England. 

TIME — the middle of the seventeenth century. 

7%e tmisic by mr. kellv. 



THE ROYAL OAK. 



ACT I. 



SCENE t—a gotkzc library in fVyndhatri' s castle^ 
opening upon the battlements — col. wvndham dis- 
covered reading — lady wyNDHAM seated opposite . 
to him at an embroidery frame. 

Wynd (flinging down his book discontentedly) I 
cannot read — my eye wanders over many letters, but 
my mind cannot digest a single sentence. 

Lady IV. (turning from her xcork) Beloved Wynd- 
liain ! wherefore will you thus needlessly afflict your- 
self and me ? it is true, the hand of a chastising provi- 
dence falls heavily upon our native land But ran our 
murmuring griefs avert the wrathful dispensation ? a- 
\^s ! no. — Let us, then, my husband, rather bend with 
resignation to that scourge, whose cutting edge, impa- 
tience will but sharpen. 

Wynd Matilda ! you reason with a woman's 
tongue. Your bosoai feels but coldly in its country's 
cause. 

Lady W. That reproach is not worthy of my Wynd- 
ham ! it is illiberal and unfounded. Recollect, i beseech 
you, the past actions of my life, even from that period 
when first our destinies became united; and then answer 
me, whether I have not loved and served my country 
truly. Oh ! Wyndham, have I not with you, rejoiced 
at England's victories, and mourned over her defeats ? 
— have I not with you beheld two gallant sons, the 
props and promise of our ancient house, stretched on 
their death-beds with wounds, vet crimson from the 
A 2 



6 ROYAL OAK [Diraond 

patriot strife ? have I not with you, while my aking 
eyes gazed on the pale features and gashed bosoms of 
my dear boys, and my quivering lips sealed with a last 
warm kiss, their cold and unrequiting mouths — oh ! 
have 1 not even then, with more than roman firmness, 
forbade one natural tear to flow, and cried, " my 
children ! ye have died the death of honor, venerable 
be your memory !'' 

fVynd {humbled and affected) Matilda ! I was 
passionate and did you wrong — forgive me ! 
Lady JV. Frankly, {stretches out her hand) 
fVynd. You possess a great and glorious soul. 
Lady ff. Yet a gentle and a loving one. Do I 
not? 

fVynd. True — most true, (kisses her hand most 
aff'eccionaiely) Is William risen yet ? 

Lady fV, But now I saw him in his study, he was 
engaged with the pencil — war supplied him with a sub- 
ject ; a sketch of Caesar at Ihe battle of the Nervii. 

fVynd. I feel uneasy on that boy's account ; he has 
of late lost all his natural gaiety, devotes his hours to 
solitude, and flies society, even that of his cousin Eli- 
nor, whom, from earliest childhood, he has loved and 
trusted ; have you noj; observed this change ? 
Lady fV. {sighs) Yes ! 
Wynd Can you guess its cause ? 
Lady IV. Too well — William now is of an age to 
fall in love, and he has chosen a fatal mistress — glory ! 
Wynd What mean you ? 

Lady fV Briefly, that the son of Wyndham, with 
the name inherits the spirit of his father You have 
heard, that our unfortunate Charles, again has raised 
the royal standard in the north — the report has also 
reached William's ear— and his youthful soul, flushed 
with the generous ardor of his race, now languishes to 
share the deadly strife. 

Wynd. \h ! pernicious, fatal valor. At once I 
condemn and applaud the spirit of my boy. 

Lady fV. Soft ! he is here — mark but his melan- 
choly air ! with what a slow and listless pace he moves ! 



Act I] ROYAL OAK 7 

— bis arms enfolded — his lips quivering with many a 
muttered sound— and his eyes siill cast importunately 
down, as though his thoughts held converse with the 
incommunicative ground. 

enter william, he adcances with a dejected ah'^ ab- 
stracted in thought, and unregarding any person 
present. 

IVynd. William ! good day. 

Lady fV. My child ! your mother greets yon. 

TVi/L (starting) Good morrow, sir and madam! I 
pray you. pardon me, 1 saw you not. 

pFynd Your thoughts must be happy companions, 
you never seem to be weary of them. Have you fin- 
ished your sketch of Cas'^ar ? 

IViil. No, 1 have thrown aside my pencil in des- 
pair ; the faint touch of science may trace the mere 
earthly frame of heroes but only enthusiasm's glowing 
hand can depict the spirit shrined within. 

IVynd Ceesar, it should seem, is a favorite with 
you. Well, he was an illustrious warrior. 

TVill. {enthusiastically) Oh ! he was a god ! 

fVynd. [smiling) Not quite — Caesar had many 
mortal failings. 

Will. Spots upon the sun's disk — but his glory 
blazed around, and shrank them into nothing — oh ! 
how I whh~{hesitates, and stops short) 

Wynd. What, my son ? 

Will. That 1 had lived when Csssar did. 

Wynd. Would you have been more virtuous or 
happy ? 

Will. I should have been more glorious— i would 
have followed his banner, fought by his side — perished 
at his feet ! 

Wynd Then you would have assisted him to impose 
vassalage upon barbarous nations ? 

W^ill. Yes — oh ! triumphant thought ! 

Wynd And. lastly, have aided him to destroy the 
liberties of his native country ? 

Will, {si -7- a PC!) JVo! 



S ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

JVynd. How ! remember CaBaar did so. He filled 
with wo and bloodshed the land which had given him 
birth, he ovt^rthrew the government by which he had 
been protected, and built upon the ruin of its rights 
and laws, the dazzling throne of arbitrary power. 
Surely you wouM have aided him in these exploits? 

Will, {.With "cehemence) No, never— by heavens! 
never— \ would have fought for the liberties of my 
country till f had seen them beaten down, then des- 
perate and self devoted, I would have planted my dag- 
ger in the heart of the usurper ; or, failing in ray aim, 
hav»- sheathed it in my own ! 

i'y'ynd. My boy. ever preserve such sentiments— 
and reuiember, no character can be truly great, unless 
it be truly virtuous. 

{William bows, retires^ and jflings himself 
thovghtfuUy into a chair) 

enter philip. 

Phil. Sir Edward Cavendish is in the hall, sir. and 
wasts to speak with you, on matters, as he says, of ur- 
gency, {exit 

Wynd. Admit him instantly. What business so im- 
portant can bring our worthy neighbor to us at Ih^s 
early hour? 

, enter cavkkdisk. 

Wynd. Welcome, my friend ! 

Cav. Colonel, your hand ; dear lady, yours. I fear 
that 1 obtrude myself upon you at an unseasonable 
time, but the impatience 1 felt to see you, would not 
admit a punctilious observance of the hour. 

Lady W. Sir Edward, the society of friendship is 
always estimable, and visits from those we regard, 
can never be considered intrusions. 

Cav. Thanks, dear lady. I know that the senti- 
ments of this family sympathise with my own, and it is 
that knowledge only which has led me hither. Col- 
onel, have you received any intelligence from the north 
t^his morning ? ^^j 



Act I] ROYAL OAK 9 

IVynd None; you are the first visitor I have seen 
since yesterday. 

Cav. You rejoice me ; for in that case, I become 
the first bearer of glad tidings — within this very hour, 
report has reached me, and on sure aulhority, that four 
daj-s since, the king defeated a large body of the par- 
liament forces on the borders of .Shropshire. 

fVynd. Blest hearing ! hope breathes again ! 

Cav. Immediately after the action, the royal army 
directed its march straight south, against the town of 
Worcester ; on their approach, the royal citizens flung 
wide the gates to receive their rightful prince, and now, 
even in the center of his kingdom, Charles plants his 
standard. 

Lady TV. Oh, god of battles ! wheresoe'er his ban- 
ner streams, endow its c«»urse with victory ! 

Cav. The army of the parliament, reinforced by 
mighty levies drawn from London, advances now to 
offer battle. Could numbers give success, the odds 
were theirs, but hope augurs every thing for the royal 
cause, 

fVynd. Heaven speed it — its welfare forms my daily 
prayer and nightly dream. 

{PVilliam, who has listened to this discourse with im- 
patient interest^ unable longer to cirb his feelings^ 
now starts up^ snafckes down a sword zchich hangs 
on the side scene, and casts himself impetuously at 
Wyndhanfi's feet ) 

Will. My father I kneel before you, and I crave a 
boon. 

fVynd Name it, my son. 

Will, Bestow upon me your blessing— this sword — 
and permission to leave your castle 

Wynd My son ! whither would you go ? 

Will. To the wars — to glory — to my king ! 

Wynd. William ! 

Lady W My child ♦ my only child ! 

Will. Father ! turn not from me — mother, look not 
thus in sorrow—what is it that 1 ask, which honor does 



10 ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

not sanction ? hoavens ! now, when all the noble youths 
of England rise in arms, each vaulting on his steed, 
brandishing his lance, and jostling in the paths of fame, 
coutd you endure it to be said, the heir of Wyndham, 
like the base issue of a peasant's loins, nieanly hides 
vvitliin his father's haSIs, turns pale and trembles at 
the trampefs blast, and fears to answer when his sove- 
reign calls? oh ! my parents, let me live with honor,- 
or let me die ! 

Cav. There burst forth the genuine spirit of his 
race Oh ! my friends, how much I envy you the 
boast of such a son 

JVtjnd. {aside) Hush ! Cavendish, your praises are 
destructive. William^ I cannot comply with your 
wishes. ' {greatly agiiaied) 

IV '.II How ! am I then refused ? 
Lady iV. For the first time. Dearest boy, submit 
to the only restriction your parents ever have imposed 
upon yoa All else demand and take— save only this ; 
this, ihey cani)ot giant. 

WilL My mo' her ! would you then see me live a 
coward in men's esteem ? 

Lady W. No ! but it would break my heart to 
look upon your corpse. Remember. William, you 
are now my only son : I had once two others, brave, 
blooming boys, and gracious as yourself to their doat- 
ing mother's eye i gave them up, I sent them forth 
to battle Ou Naseby's mournful field, fell both my 
darUngs, twin-born to eternity ! when their bleeding 
bodies were placed before me, I thought that I had 
paid m\ country all my debt ; you then became my 
only care, in you my dead boys seemed to live again 
—and ofteii, while I watched the promise of your 
lipr-ning manhood, 1 have lost the sense of former 
griefs, and cried, '"' providence ! I murmur not, since 
thou hast left me still a son !" and must I now resign 
you also ^ must I indeed become a childless woman ? 
oh ! no. the saeriiice is too great. William, 1 cannot 
pait ivilli you. 

i-VilL Madam ! yqu wring my heart — but— 



Act Ij ROYAL OAK li 

Lady ^V. Dearest boy, yield to your mother's soli- 
citalicn 

frynd If not, obey your father's command— 1 for- 
bid you to quit the castle. 

PVill. Harsh prohibition, severe injunction ! 

ELINOR jm^f without^ and then enters from the gar- 
den with a small basLet of flowers. 

His buckler sat tight, and his helmet was bright. 

His plume was the eagle's wing ; 
He thrided the wood, and he forded the flood. 

Yet merrily still would he sing. 

JBlin. Uncle! bless to me the day ! 

fVynd My fair niece ! may each succeeding morn, 
like the presents light you to haupiness and virtue. 

Lady fV. Elinor, you left your bed at sunrise: 
where have you wandered since ? ^ 

Elin. I have been ranging the garden, to gather for 
you those flowers which you love most. See, here, I 
have twisted for you the rose with white jessamine, 
and here are honey suckles for my uncle 

Cav. My pretty Elinor ! \ am an old friend; have 
you not a blooming gift wherewith to remember me? 

Elin. Ah ! I knew not of your visit, else my good 
sir Edward had not been forgotten. I have but one; 
nosegay left. 

Cav. For whom, then, is thnt nosegay destined ? 

Eliv. Oh, for William — for my own Wnijam ! 
{turns affeciionately to him) Here, coz — tahe it — tis 
hearCs-tase — keep it in your bosom, and may it never 
— ner)er wither. 

Will. My fair, kind cousin. 

Lady W. Elinor ! he has ever loved you. Now, 

then, my niece, use your soft influence with me- 

bend his stern temper to the hopes of his unhappy pa- 
rents, reconcile him to his home, and let him no lon- 
ger wish to leave us, 

Elin. Leave us ! he does not— he cannot mean it — 
whither would he go ? 



12 ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

Lady W, To the wars— alas ! to his grave. 

Elin. No ! I am sure he cannot purpose it — speak, 
William, could you desert your Elinor ? she would 
not abandon you for worlds. 

Wi/l. Sweet Elinor ! 

Elin. Ah, me ! you do not answer — nay, then, tis 
true, and William no longer loves me. 

IVill, Heaven be my witness, Elinor, I do love you 
dearly — truly. 

Elin. Then wherefore would you leave me ? 

tVill. Duty is paramount to love. 

Elin. Cruel ! 1 have known no duty, but what my 
affection for you has inspired. 

fVill. The call of honor is imperative ; it must be 
obeyed. 

E^in. The oaths of love are sacred ; they must not 
be broken. 

fVill. Nor should they ; with my life I would pre- 
serve my faith. 

Elin. In the fatal battle they would both be lost. 
Oh ! William, by my terrors, by my anguish, 1 con- 
jure you, to promise that you will think no more of 
this. 

IViil. Elinor, I— I— 

[a trumpet is heard at some little distance) 

IVynd. Hark ! what trumpet is't that sounds so 
near ? 

Cav. Tis the lord Wilmot's. I heard of this but now. 
His power sets forth to day, to join by hasty march 
the king at Worcester. His road lies strait beneath 
your castle walls, 

IVill. {with quick emotion) Ah ! from the western 
turret 1 can see the warriors pass. 

[exit hastily up a winding stair 

Lady fV. Wyndham ! marked you his look when 
the trumpet sounded ? his chest grew big with mighty 
passion — and enthusiasm flashed from his eye — 

PVynd. Too well I noted it — and its expression fills 
me with alarm. 

Elin. I will follow him, and strive to sooth his 



Act I] ROYAL OAK 13> 

passions. Oh ! it is ever with him thus, when chafed ; 
his sudden spirit breaks all wholesome bounds — but 
brief its wanderings — 

So, the wild torrent rushing from the rock, 
Oe'rsweeps resistance with its headiong shock ; 
Soft ye, awhile, its clamoring springs subside, 
Self-stili'd, it settles to a sober tide ; 
In broken moans, its fury sinks to rest. 
And heaven reflected, glitlers on its breast. 

[exit up the turret 

Lady TV, Persuasion dwell upon thy tongue, sweet 

maid. 

{the march strikes more distinctly on the ear, and the 
tops of speais and banners are seen glittering and 
fluttering upon the hil/ side beyond the battlements) 
fVynd. The troops are passing now before my gales. 

Philip. 

enter philip. 

Phil. My lord. 

fVynd. Let the draw-bridge instantly be raised —no 
person of my family must be suffered to pass forth 
without my special order. Mark me. not even my son. 

Phil My lord, 1 shall obey. [eiit 

Cav. From your last injunction, should I infer, that 
you mistrust your son's obedience. 

Lady PV. O ! Cavendish, his impetuous nature bids 
me fear the worst. Yet, by my soul ! it pains me 
mueh, that I must seek to smother in his breast, that 
god like spark of valor, which it was orxe rny dearest 
pride to kindle and encourage. 

Cav. Wherefore would you quench the f^enerous 
flame ? now, by my life, had I a son. even with such 
temper, would I wish his heart to glow. 

Wynd. Recollect, my friend, that Witliam i^ 
the last of his race ; in his grave the name of Wynd- 
ham would be for ever buried. Yet. think not, that i 
'•oldly compromise my subject's fealty in a fallier'A 



U > ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

love. No ! couW 1 again, as once at Naseby's fight I 
did, lead lor ih my inariia! IraJn of followers, I would, 
myself, upon my warworn brows, once mor«- the hel- 
met braro, and venture with my son m fellowship of 
tirms. But, a'as ! no vassals now al.lend iny banner ; 
the heavy arm of the unjust has fai;en on my house 
and crnsiv^.d il. VViiiiam's <ing!e life could laUe aid 
th'.? king, but his dear loss would bow his j.arents to 
their grave in sorrow. 

Cav Vou Isave convinced me. I ought to have re- 
membered, that Wyndhani could net decide with levi- 
ty on any point. 

enter eUnor precipitated y. 

El in. Oh ! my uncle : my friends ! save me — 
comfort me — I am miserable! 

La^ly /»^^ Dearest Elinor ! wherefore this concern ? 

JSfin Oh ' he is gone — he is gone for ever ! 

Lady J-V, Who ? 

Eiin V'iiliam ! cruel Wi-Iiam ! he has left us all ! 

Lady IV. L^eaven sustain me ! 

M-^ynd. Speak, Llinor ! explain ! . 

Eli7i. 1 stood beside hsm on the western battle- 
ments, while the troops of .ord Vv ilmot passed be- 
neath ; their armor glittered in the sunbeam, their 
banners gaiiy streamed, and then music floated sweet- 
ly on the wind. As they passed, William's breath 
drew quicker, and all his soul sprang upward to 
his eyes ; sudden he started from my side, and rushed 
along the rampart's utmost edge. The powers of 
spf'ech and motion left me. but with my eyes I follow- 
ed him — still onward fl<^d he, til! he reached the place 
where in the late htonu oVrlhrown, the wall had fallen 
on the m /at— boldly lie sprang upon the tottering 
mass — I c!os d my eyes through terror. VVhen next 
I dared to look he stood beyond the foss — there turn^ 
ina round, he wuvi'd his hand in rapid token of fare- 
well, and cried aloud — " heaven be with tjice. EHnor ! 
when next we meet, I claim thee as a soldier's bride ;" 



Act I] -ROVALOAK 15 

Lady fV, Oh ! heavy hearing ! is he then lost to 

Eiin. Ha bounded o'er the Uirf — he reached the 

armed array — iie mingli'd in their shininsy ranks 

weiipoiis gteamed una banners waved around him — 
sti'd xuy fond sight jjursued the rover — tiU tears — ah ! 
me, despiteful tears, burst into my eyes, and washed 
away their daatin^ sense. 

Lady f'V. Oh! glorious son ! yet ah ! unhappy pa- 
rents ! 

yVynd. Mourn not, my MaUlda; heaven's prevail- 
ing hand is over us— thrs w^ound is given — patience on- 
ly can apply a bahn 

Cav. Rouse, noble lady, rouse thai happy foriiiude, 
which ever yet has graced your mind. Tvviii bear 
you brave !y up. 

. Klin. But what shall comfort me^ u-b ! whither 
shaii i turn for solace or support, who had but one, 
dear, treasured joy, and no;* have lost it ! 

Lady I'F. Come in^ poor m<jurnej ! sweet weeping 
faith, whosi true heart pines wiih a false iove's 
unkindness ; come, and m these aims e.xchange your 
griefs for mine, so by partaking ma> we i;ghtca our 
dis^tress. Mow lift vvc up oar prayers to h aven for 
hi<n, who absent stands in da.iger's walk. Heaven is 
mercii-ai, and will dot scorn the humbicsL kneeling 
mother, who supplicates protection foi- her only 
child! icxeunt 



scEiNK II — inside of dame iMaythoni's cottage, 
enter claribel, Awiitir/g". 

AIR — Cf.ARlEri.. 

Tis oh»! I wish my love wos come, 
A ,d oh ' 1 wish him hen ! 

No joy nor pleasure rest at home 
When roa:ns abroad my dear. 



16 ROYAL O/VK [Dimond 

I wait and watch beside the road, 

I search along the brook, 
1 rove by every path he trod, 

But ah ! in vain my look ! 
Tis oh ! I wish, &c. 
And shall ! see his face again ? 

And shall I hear him speak ? 
Shall kisses thrill my lip again 

While blushes tint my cheek? 
;No heart keep I within this breast— 

The fluttering fool hath flown — 
O ! catch it, Arthur! by the way, 

The truant is thy own ! 
Tis oh ! I wish, &c. 

enter dame maythorn. 

Dame M. Ah ! daughter Claribel, at work and at 
song together, as wont— with the lark in the morning 
— with the nighiingale at eve — let good fortune or 
mishap be toward, it matters not, you still carol 
blilheJy on and nev^r heed. 

Clar Ay! my good dame, ever cheerful^, ever joy- 
ous ; care and 1 are most religious enemies — we never 
sojourn within the same threshold. 

Dame .1/ In fn'th, but you keep brave spirits — 

Clar. So do you, mother — in your cellar ; mhic 
revel in the heart : your spirits are never uncorked, 
but on a winter's night, when the sharp frost pinches 
lazy limHs ; but mine keep generously on the flow all 
the year round ! 

name M Aha I you were ever a mad brained girl. 
Heaven send your husband soon home to govern you. 

A^th. (wihout) What ho! house I dame May- 
thorn I wife Claribel ! ho ! 

C/ar \ miracle ! good mother — man comes upon 
your wish ! 

enter arthur. 

Dame M. Oh ! my dear boy ! art returned Jiome 
again ? 



Act I] ROYAL OAK 17 

Arlh. I think so niotljer, if this be Maytliorn farm, 
and the old ivied porch stand where 1 left it — bi;l let 
us touch and try — your fist, dame ! Claiibel ! buss me, 
wench ! 

Clar. Hast journeyed far, Arthur ? 

Arili. Even to 'i'ewksbnry— i coukl not find my 
grain a market nearer home. What has befallen in 
my absence — hast any news for me ? 

Dame M Oh ! yes, 1 have a power of ill newg. 

Arih. Then I wont liear it. 

Dame /]/. You mu^t— it will put you in a passion. 

Arth I dont want to be put in a passion. 

Dame M. Ah ! but I will tell you — seven eggs of 
the bantam hen were found a\ld!i.'d in the nest la.-t 
Wednesday morning ; the night before, the horse- 
shoe iiad been stolen from the door. 1 say noLhing — 
bat old blear eyed xVIargaret, at the bottom of the lane, 
might give a shrewd guess to find out Ihe thief. 

Artli. Curse old Margaret and the bantam hvn ! 

Dame M Fye ! Arthur, dont curse the poor hen 
— she could not help the eggs being addled ; lut I 
have been a match for old Margaret — for 1 have had 
three new horseshoes nailed against the door-and 
every evening since, I have placed a couple of long 
straws across, with my own hand before the threshold 

Arth Zooks ! mother, you have made the funuim 
pregnable; mother Shipton herself could not van 
quish such a fortification. But hunger is to some na- 
tures as dire a foe as witchcraft; I have lidden 
thirty n^iles since sun rise — and my bowels begin to 
yearn as it were for sustenance. Pry'thee ! good 
Another, show your cookery, and see some brealcfast 
toward ! — 

Dame M. Marry ! that will 1 — I will make you a 
strengthening posset, fit for any justice of the quorum'. 
Be of heart, boy! you shall have your break-fast, and 
arterv/ards you shall see t'je hors'i shoes. Yes, yes — 
\ think 1 have been a match for ohl Margarei:. ! \e»it 

Clar: Arthur! didst mc^t with aaghi of nocc \^[.Q^x 
voiu- travel ? 

B 2 



1« ROYAL OAK [Dimond 



J 



Artfh Ay, marry, wench ! the times are stirring, 
and they that lake journeys now a-davs will find em- 
ployment for their wils Man\ a choice crew of 
home weary spirits crossed my road — all cased in j 
firm built vessels — gallantly rig£;c'd — steering in glory's | 
tract, and bound as veniures to the wars. Worcester 1 
is th;i common port, for there the young king hoists 
his Hag 

Clur Hush I Arthur— the king ! 
Art/i, Ay, girl, the king Never make so strange 
of his litle. Knaves and cowards may deny their sove- 
reign ; but brave and honest men will always glo- 
ry to acknowledge him 

Clar. JSay, never frown and look so churlishly up- 
on m?^— 1 spoke buL out of loving fear. The poor 
sh>u!d be « autious, and — 

Arth. W<fe — wife — when his dear country's rights 
are quesitioned, the poorest man in i ngland feels an 
interest --equal with her richest subject— and honor 
ought to rest 2Lh proudly o ] the thatched rafters of the 
collage, as on the gilded roofs of palaces ! 

Clar. Nay, pry'thee now, be not angered with 
me— 

Arth. Angered ! not 1 faith ! I never loved yoo 
better — but when you slur my loyalty, look you, Clari- 
bel ' 1 cannot brook it — 

Clar. I will be mindful to oflfend no more Come 
now,* ^rmile on me and look pleasant ! 

Arth » imph ! will that content you ? {looks gro- 
tesquely at her) 

Clar. Ay ! ay ! now I know you for my own dear, 
wicked, good tempered Arthur once again. Hang 

ca'C and sonow — let to-morrow provide for itself ■ 

Claiibel never looks beyond the day — the sun shines — 
^er husband smiles — and she is happy ! 

DU?T — CLA«:IBEL and ARTHUR. 

Clar. Sing lo v ! wearily -drearily — 

Moments lagg'd and skies look bbck, 
Arth, Sing high ! merrily—cheerily— 



Act IJ ROYAL OAK 19 

Mirth and sunny beams come b^ck. 
Clar. Sing low ! sighingly — cryingly — 

Was you tbrc'd afar to roam — 
Arth. Sing high ! flaunlingly — rantingly — 

Seek I thee my love at home ! 
Both. Sing high ! sing low ! sing ho heigh ! nonny ! 
Caroling, capering, blithesome and bonny — 
Jealousy never — our true hearts shall sever, 
Care flies the door and love guards it for ever ! 

[exeunt 



SCENE III — the royal tent near fVorcester — a flourish. 

enter king charles, Hamilton, derby, and fol- 
lowers. 

Char. Cheerly ! my cavaliers — through opening east- 
ern clouds the sun peeps forth with rosy front, and 
gaily prophesies a golden noon Now, by my life, [ 
think the generous orb is friendly to our arms— for 
look you, lords ! full upon our tent he floods his rising 
light, and leaves the trenches of the foe in shade 

Der. We needed not his beams to animate our host 
— your majesty's great self, our sun, shines forth ; your 
looiis with fiercer valor fire the young, and freshly kin- 
die life's last lingering spark in age. Whilst you are 
with us, fortune grown enamored of the cause, must 
gtill embrace our banner. 

Ham My lord of Derby talks it boldly, and decks 
out hope with most triumphant words. Yet mns^ 
your highness pardon me. it much f mourn the coun- 
sel, which led us to forsake the rocky north, and seek 
new ventures on these southern plains. Each day 
that we have lost on english ground, has rather thin- 
ned than swelled our ranks My Scottish troops, 
strange and unpractised to our present mode of war, 
lose their accustomed cheer of spirit, and hourly turn 
away their faces from our camp, seeking with heavy 
heart, their rugged homes beyond the distant Tweed. 
!No store of english friends come in to weigh a- ainst 



20 ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

this loss— the partisans of Stuart, here methinks, are 
sleepers all , or if they wake, the dread of danger, and 
Cromwell's great immediate force stands between 
their wishes and the effect. 

Char.. Why, how now, Hamilton ! droop not, no- 
ble spirit! let holiow friends and timorous souls take 
wing and fly before the peril falls ; the greater glory 
will remain with those, the stedfustfew who stand the 

shock, and dare to conquer an outnumbering foe ! 

hark ! the trumpet speaks some new arrival ! — who 
is't that comes ! — ha ! by all my hopes, lord Wilmot ! 

enttr lord wilmot, william, and attendants. 

Char. Welcome ! trusty friend — thus let me fold 
you to my loviuir heart, and speak how dearly it ac- 
. counts your service. 

fVihn. My Hege. this kind reception overpays the 
humble efforts of my zeal, and leaves me, worthless 
debtor that I am, too poor even in words to make re- 
quital. What slender strength the losses of my house 
had left me to commarfd, 1 have made a last venture 
of, and headed to your camp. Three hundred yeo- 
men, raw perchance, and inexpert at arms, as system- 
mongers teach ; but bearing each, within his rough 
and sinewy breast, an englishman's proud birth right, 
unconquerable courage, and the immortal love of liber- 
ty and virtue! 

Char. A gallant and well timed supply! met you by 
the way, any parties of the foe ? 

JVilm. Some stragglers only, who fled at our ap- 
proach, and shunned encounter. But upon my march, 
I crossed a young adventurer, who maugre obstacle, 
had left his pleasant home, kind relatives, and plight- 
ed love behind, to serve his sovereign here at Worces- 
ter. So please you, I would commend him to your 
majesty's regard, {presents f4'"dliam,xoho kneels) 

Char Already I esteem his merits, and infold them 
in my love. Say, my youthful warrior, how shall I 
call you? 

Will. William; my liege ! 



Act I] ROYAL OAK 21 

Char. What else? 

IVtil. Your loving subject, sire. I fain would bear 
that title, since my natural one I must not use. My 
parents vviien they gave me being, gave me also an un- 
blemished name , I left my home ungraced b) their 
consent, and should dishonor blight me now, in this 
my interdicted course, 'twould grieve me that a cor- 
rupted scion should foul the credit of a fail and lofty 
tree. No, my sovereign, let me first make J>roof in 
arms, that 1 am rightfully my house's heir, then may 
I clasp my father's knees without a blush, and claim 
my birth-right ! 

C/iar. Brave youth ! howe'er renowned the stock 
from which you spring, my life upon't, your prowess 
never will disgrace their line. 

fVilL It shall be my study ever to deserve your ma- 
jesty s good thought. Oh ; give me but a sword, and 
place ray sovereign's foe against its point, then let my 
arm declare, whose blood is current in its veins ! 

trumpet sounds — enter Officer, 

Off. My liege ! an herald from the enemy demands 
a parley — an officer accompanies the flag, and waits 
for audience. 

Char. Conduct him straight before us ! [exit Offi- 
cer] now, my lords, what should this embassy por- 
tend ? courtesy or insult? 

Ham. Be it either, sire, my best advice is, that you 
spurn It from you. 

enter lambton. 

Lamb. Stand 1 within the presence of Charles 
Stuart ? 

Ham Audacious rebel! within the presence of thsj 
king of Scotland. 

Char. Peace ! good Hamilton. 

Lamb. Stand I within the presence of Charles 
Stuart? 1 repeat. 

Char. 1 bear the name of Stuart, graced in itself, 



22 ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

beyond the aid of vain additions. Now, cert^mony 
past — to your matter, sir ! 

Lamb. Briefly ; from tbe Joid proto.ctor, and h^ng- 
land's high pailiatnenL now asseiiibied, 1 bear to you 
protrered terais of composition and advantage. 

Char. Propose your terms at iargii— my aiibwer 
shall be strict to each particular. 

Lamb. Thus then- by my mouLh, speaks ih*^ great 
protect'i/r. — — ^' Charles, against your saored mother 
England, you hate deeply sinned— more Ik'? soine 
reckless parricidi, than as a diiteous son ; you have 
scarred her fair bosom with unp<3tura! stabs, and mur- 
dered there the gent'.e dove of p-^ace, that else had 
built its everJas ing nest. Confedirate with sundry 
malecontents and ouliawed men ; you have raised re- 
bellion's flame within this quiet isle, and biovvn its 
suhiie sparks into the: farthest corners of our coast— r 
ofiending and de^i!oyillg in their coorst, hither, even 
to the center of the realm your impious arms have 
pierced but here llieir progress ends. Iieaven- di- 
recting arm hath placed its chosen servants round 
about, and given into their hands ;he fiiiminf^ «word 
of vengeance ; but mercy dwelleth ever w'th the 
righteous, and though of victory well assured, ling^and 
is loth to stain herself with engiish bl<>od ; 1 -t Sluart 
then to spare a mournful conque'^t make frunU sur- 
render of his else devoted force: ; and we, uj.on the 
faith of governments engage to hirn, safe conduct to 
our sf)ores, n'^.cessary shippmsj^. and open passage of 
the seas — with an uncondiiioned amnesty pronounced 
to all who quit his fortunes, and turn submissive to 
their homes again. Wl.at a jswer shall I bear to the 
protector ? — 

Char. With marvel I have heard, with indignation 

1 reply. -First. I do pronounce as fa'sf, that i have 

stirred 'gainst Kngiamrs peace. False that I have 
leagued with any but just and loyal men ; and falser 
still, that, treading now upon mine own hereditary 
soil, I stand within the scope of any upstart foe, tp 
fcrammel m eject. A duteous and a loving son te 



Aci I] ROYAL OAK 25 

England have I ever proved, nor come I now, to man- 
g'e Willi In sh wounds, hej hotioied breast, bal to pour 
bairn i'-!to those piieous hurts, which traitor hands al- 
ready/ have iniiicted there To ourself, and those abi- 
duig with us, all sovere gniy and sway do righUuUy 
attache and they who now would bar our title, are but 
a false unlicensed rabble ; whose only show to opposi- 
tion, is a wicked power b'oodtly usurped, fleetingly 
possessed ; the dregs of England and her worst dis- 
grace. 

Lamb My commission goes not further ; — but out 
of loving kindness towards my country, I am aioved 
to add iny own advice to the protector's oilers — be- 
think you, sir, upon the odds — our forces nearly dou- 
ble your account. 

Cha> . Let them — And to each thou.*;and that you 
count, reckon fresh thousands on, thi-n lens of thou- 
sands more ; til! heaven's wide arch shall scarcely 
seem to &pan the illimitable line ! smaJl are the num- 
bers of confederate hosts, if honor breathes no inspi- 
ration through their ranks. Weak ar^ the sinews of 
the mightiest arm, if conscience hang a guilty weight 
about it ; aiid vain the counsels of debaling senates, if 
god be absent from their close wrought sch mes ! — 
in heaven's high regard, my soldiers' valor, and my 
own good cause, I place my trust. — AM else were im. 
potent. Mence ! sir, back to the man who misem- 
ploys you, «nd inform him thus : — tell him besides, that 
Charles too dearly loves his english ground, to yield 
one jot of it without a blow. 

Lamb, I shall report you faithfully. — With heavy 
heart 1 take my leave. 

Char. Short leaves-taking, sir, we soon shall meet 
again, [exit Lambion\ Give him safe conduct through 
our lines. Now, Hamilton, how like you this our 
prompt resolve ? 

Ham Worthy a king, a hero, and a scot. Oh ! let 
the trumpet .«-ound. that 1 may teach these empty 
braggarts of the south, how keen the vengeance of a 
northern arm. 



9A ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

PVilm. O'er the green ridge of yonder hills that 
look towards Malvern, the banners of the foe begin 
to wave ' — belike they do but wait their messenger's 
return, to seek us here, and force us to the fight. 

Char. To seek us ! — no, brave Wilmot, to receive 
us rather. Be it ever ours to give the challenge, not 
coldly dally till it comes to find us. Now through our 
ranks let martial expedition stir. Some one haste to 
Worcester town, and bid lord Lesley lead his Scottish 
horse, forth at the northern gate, and scour the mead- 
ows up the Severn's side. Cavaliers, to arms ! — each 
leader to his separate power, and promptly muster 
front the camp. In heaven's great presence here I 
draw my sword, never to yield it, as I trust, but as a 
conqueror, or in death. — Methinks my martyred fa- 
ther's spirit sits upon my arm, and freshly nerves it 
with immortal force ! — forward ! — be the word of bat- 
tle — *' Britain ! — our parent's glory, and our children's 
hope." — Away ! [exeunt Charles and nobles 

(a loud flourish of battle instruments is sounded — 
a standard-bearer and several soldiers advance — 
the standard is planted in front of the stage^ and 
the soldiery form themselves around it) 

CHORUS OF SOLDIERS. 

Rise ! rise ! rise ! 
Voice of battle, deep and dread ! 

To the skies, 
Let the vast alarum spread ! 

Hear ! hear ! hear ! 
Living lord of strength and might;, 

Arm'd appear, 
Go thou with us to the fight ! 

Lord ! lord ! lord ! 
Roll loud thunders o'er our way—- 

Let thy sword 
Flash red lightnings through the fray ! ^ 

{trumpets without sound to the atiack) | 

Round ! round ! round ! 1 



Act II] ROYAL OAK 25 

Wide and wild, the war blast blows ! 

Hail ! mad sound ! 
Mingled knell of friends and foes ! 

Blood I blood ! blood ! 
Gush and drown the fieid of fight ! 

From the flood. 
Souls make wing, and crowd in flight ! 

{the curtains xch'ich compose the back cf the tent, art 
drawn tip, and discover the field of battle, extended 
to a perspective beyond — the soldiers from the front 
of the stage^ march through the opening, and mix 
with the confusion of the combat) 

END OF THE FIRST ACT, 



ACT II. 

scBUE I — a gateway at Worcester— flourish, 
enter Fairfax, lambton, and followers. 

Fair. Command a halt beyond the city gates. — Thus 
far success betides the righteous cause — our haughty 
foes are vanquished utterly, and VV^orcester yields re- 
pentant to our arms — See that all prisoners be safely 
lodged ; to those of note, give special tending as befits 
their rank, [exeunt followers} Now, Lambton ! said 
you that Cromwell had already left the camp ? 

Lamb. Scarcely was the armor from his limbs un- 
braced, before he mounted horse for London, to bear 
himself the news of his great victory to parliament 

Fair Know you whether Charles survives his par- 
ty's general wreck ? 

Lamb, When all was lost, and o'er red heaps of 
kindred slain, his routed soldiers faintly pressed their 
flight, I saw young Stuart singly stand, and keep the 
center of the field, unhorsed — his helmet gone — his 
buckler battered with innumerous blows— in his nght 
hand aloft he shook a glittering- sword, and with the 



«6 ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

other, grasped a standard newly wrested from some 
conqueror's arm— bleeding, panting, looking death and 
scorn he stood — as a despairing lion, o'ertaken by pur- 
suit, that fiercely turns, and keeps his hunters at tre- 
mendous bay^ — so terrible, and yet so glorious looked 
the youth, that even our roughest sons of war, either 
by fear, or sudden reverence touched, forbore to press 
the combat twriher. and turned their blood- dyed weap- 
ons from his breast averse I 

Fair. Escaped he then ? 

Lamb. At length, surrounded by an host of foes, 
deaih or captivity appeared his only choice, when by a 
su'^iden chance, lords Derby and Wilmot, returning to 
the charge, with headlong valor bore the royal pnxe a- 
way, and forced him ail unwilling, to partake their 
fliglit. 

FaW. Which course was taken by the fugitives ? 

Lamb. Towards the forest — there, as I have learn- 
ed, 'hey parted company, and ever since the eve of 
yesterday. Sluart has wandered through the woods a- 
lone, no man knows whither. — l>ut long he caano^ 
hope to esc.'pe, parlies of fieet horse already are sent 
out, by every roau in his pursuit. 

Fa'tr. L^theialds proclaim him strait through every 
neighboring town, and scrolls be posted by each chorch 
and public pass, ofi^-ring rewards to any that shall 
seize his person, and denouncing death to those who 
shelter or conceal him, — Accompany me, Lambton, to , 
th;^ city-hall, where now our gravest captains wait in ; 
council, and there devise what further raay be done, ; 

, .- . 

SCFNE II — the skirts of a forest— hi ihe center ff ths 
sfa^e. a large oak tree— on one sui.e the cottage of' 
Bla.ythorn — the scne is darkened as jnsf before tht 
dawn — thunders and fighiens vio/eniiy — CHAitLES, 
pvts aside soyne of ihe branches of the onk. and looks 
caidiously round— he then descends, and cotnes for- 
ward. 
Char. Nature, rave on ! — embattled elensei^ts T?sr- 



Act II] ROYAL OAK 27 

sue your strife, and wreak your vengeance freely on a 
wretch's head— here spend your slufls, here p'a.it 
your bolted lires — strilie, and spare not — {/'tans for a 
moment against the tree) Yet, pardon, oh : hv^wrii! 
— pardon, that I ramumr al thy just decrees; -no— 
though «orely touched and tempv-ed by its giiei's, my 
spiiit bovvs in reverence to thy will ; and si ace it 
pleases thee that I should live, existence still ^ha^ be 
my care, {tempest contirmcs) Methinics the thunder 
rolls more distant, and through liie forest's shuddering 
vviiiks the storm less fiercely drives. — O'er the hoti- 
zon's dusky ed^e, a trembling light begins to sttal, and 
from the womb of dark reiactant c'ouds, impertect 
morning struggles into bir».h — Unwelcome view ! — all 
the long night, th'; calls of my pursuers have sounded 
on tha blast — and ot't my nam^!, wi'th threats and curs- 
es joined, has reached me in the tem^jest's iitful pause. 
— Wiih day, fresh danger comes — but whither shall I 
fly? where seek a refuge? ruined — imdone — proscrib- 
ed and dogged at every step — pity even in loyal bosoms 
scarcely dares to know itself, an I doors that once 
were hospitable, now are barred in terror against me, 
lest thay take destruction in :~yet somewhere i must 
find relief, or soon with very want expire ! — weighed 
down by long fatigue and watch, nature sinks, and my 
worn limbs refuse their office. — Yonder stands a cot- 
tage, half hid amidst t!»e trees, the casemt nts are all 
closed, and the inhabitants still rest : — what if I wake 
them, and beg some food for charity ? the appeal is 
hazardous ; but they are my countrymen, and if their 
hearts be truly english they will noc look upon misery 
without compassion. — (a loud whistle is heard) Ha! 
I am prevented — voices and footsteps sound through 
the forest. — Friendly oak ! take me to thy conceaimg 
shades again — in thee alone is safety. — Gant tne 
strength, oh heaven ! that I fall not down with weari- 
ness at my pursuer's feet ! 
{he re-ascends th'i oak, and conceals himself arpjdz'^ 
the boughs) 



J 



ROYAL OAK [Dirao 



enter two soldiers. 

1st Sol. I tell you, comrade, 1 was right ; we are 
now in the high foot-path to the village. VVhen I 
was a boy, before \ gathered honors in the war, I gain- 
ed a fair credit hereabouts by snaring deer in this 
same forest, and I could lead you through al! its wind- 
ings blindfold ; but half a mile forward and we reach 
the inn 

2d Sol. May be so— but here I halt — not a step 
further before day break. 

1st Sol. Art an owl, and only sighted in the dark — 
lis day break now — the cocks are crowing from every 
roost about the forest — the sun will soon be rising — 

2d Sol. No matter. I'll e'en seat myself under this 
tree, and rest till the corporal join us — he cannot now 
be far behind, (scats Inm self under the oak) I'fath, 
the wind and the rain b»?tween them have begotten a 
marvellous dryness in my throat, ydrinks) This is 
right cordia! — the thunder has not turned it — comrade, 
wilt drink ? 

1^^ Sol. Not I — my thirst is of another kind, 

2d Sol How a man may live and learn ! till now I 
never knew that dryness had a difference in its fashion. 
Pry'thee comrade, tell me the new mode, that I may 
correct my style 

ist Sol. My thirst is for gold — rewards — prefer- 
ment- — the cup of fortune stands within our reach, and 
we might share the draught — but you are too lazy to 
stretch out your arm and grasp it. 

2d Sol That's a mistake — only let fortune's cup be- 
come visible, and I'll make a long arm with any man 
of indifferent stature in the army. 

\st Sol. Charles Stuart cannot be far off — if wo 
could seize him, we might line our doubMs with a 
thousand pounds, and write esquire after our names 
through life. 

2d Sol. Ay I but where are we to seek for him. — 
We have been hunting him all night long, like a jack- 



Act III ROYAL 0\K 29 

©'lantern through the forest and taken nothing but ill 
weather, soaked jerkins, i»nd broken shins in fee. 

1st Soi, t tell you he is nol far from us, and if we 
use industry, cannot long esca^je ; Til rouse the coitaj^e 
here, and make inquiry. {goej> up to the cottage) Hol- 
loa ! house ! 

2d So/. Marry ! comrade you have lusty lungs— if 
this same cup that you talk of, were to be holioa'd for, 
you'd win it from the general himself 

\si So/. Why, house 1 say— house ! holloa! 

{JrlAur opens a casement above) 

Arth. HoIk>a! again. What are you that beat at a 
yeoman's door ? 

\sl Sol. Friend, I come in peace. 

Arth. Yet you break my rest, and that's a strange 
sign of peace methinks. Who are you ? 

\st Sol. A soldier, and one of the right cause. 

Arth. What do you want? 

\st Sol. Information. 

Arth. Then you may depart in peace as you came, 
for I have none of the commodity to spare, (closes 
the casement) 

2d Sol. Comrade, you must thirst a little longer — 
remember many things fall out between the cup and 
the lip. 

l.y^ Sol. That knave is a royalist — I know him by 
his suUenness ; ay ! by my sword a rank royalist ! but 
let us forward, and we may gain some tidings at the 
village. 

Coip. {zoithout) Wliat ho ! my trojans ! my gal- 
lants of I lion ! 

2d Sol Mass ! but that's our coporal's voice : I 
tnew he would overtake us. 

1st Sol. Here's my cursed luck ! I never went up- 
on a good scent, but a pack of greedy hounds must 
open upon the game, and come in at the death before 
me. 

enter corporal and soldiers. 

Corp. Kovv now ! bellona's bridec^rooms ! are we 
C2 



V 



30 • ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

met ? have ye strayed ? have ye wandered ? nay, 
shame not to confess it — the world is full of errors, and 
we that are of science, have but kept Uie course in- 
differently strict ourselves. 

2d Sol Marry ! master corpora!, had I your schol- 
arship, I should little fear to miss my way. 

Corp. Thou pre-judgest wrongfully. Fortune turns 
■upon her wheel, and we blind mortals, follow her 
versations. 1, that was cnce a school master, am now 
a corporal ; from arts to arms, from Apollo unto 
Mars ; ergo, I have missed my way. 

2d Sol. 1 should like to be a scholar, for all that. 

Corp Thy wish is granted ; 1 promise thee : die- 
turn est — it is pronounced ; factum est.^ it is perform- 
ed ; to us, the inaugurated few, nature unlocks the 
casket of her wonders ; by us, her very secret things, 
past, present, and to come, are freely known and 
utterly possessed 

Ut Sol. Since your learned men know every thing, 
corporal, ! would ask a question ; can you tell where 
Charles Stuart may be now hid ? 

Corp. Indubitably can 1 : if he be hid, he is, con- 
cealed ; that is, he may not be at present visible. 

\st Sol Well ! 1 am no scholar, thank heaven ; I 
can neither write nor read, but I think 1 should have 
been as wise without your answer. 

Corp Repine ye not, warriors of valorous arm ! 
what though I may not myself expound— I bear that 
with me, which shall this gordian knot of secresy un- 
tie. Behold ye here — the proclamation ! the reward ! 
(shews a scroll) gold can pierce stern gates of iron ! 

1st Sol. That sight gives me fresh longings — pry'- 
thee good master corporal, let us on — 

Corp Have with ye, myrmidons! first I would 
leave a copy of the proclamation at yon cot obscure, 

Ist Sol. You will but lose labor— they that dwel| 
there, are royalist curs, and unless you break the door 
down, you get no admission. 

2d Sol. 'Slife ! master corporal, post up the scroll 



Act 11} ROYAL OAK 31 

against this oak — twill face the door, and when they 
open it, they needs must read. 

Co)p. Thy words give politic counsel ; the char- 
acters hereon inscribed, will grieve the eyes of naughty 
royalists, and therefore it is my pleasure they shall 
read ; post up the proclamation, {the scroll is posted 
against the oak) Lo ! ye, brethren in arms, phoebus 
ascends the sphere ! forth with our nectar flasks- 
drink salutation to the morn, sing of martial joys, then 
on ! 

CATCH OF SOLDIERS. 

The battle is fought and the battle is won. 

Cold on the plain — ten thousand remain, 
Who merrily march'd at the rise of the sun, 

Nights' heavy rain — was tears for the slain ! 
N ow lift the voice ! in shouts rejoice ! 

For roundheads keep revel where royalists bled — 
The eagle before ye — flies onward to glory — 

Let kite, and let raven go prey on the dead ! 
Lillibullero ! lillibullero ! 

Let kite, and let raven go prey on the dead ! 

(they pass under the oak in triumph, joining in cho- 
rus to the burden) [exeunt 

enter Arthur /row the cottage. 

Arth. A goodly day is toward ; the sun begins to 
rise, and the east looks clear ; faith ! the tempest clat- 
tered so roughly through the night, I thought the old 
roof would have fallen about our ears ; but save a few 
torn boughs strewn here and there, I see no damage 
done. Ha! what have we here upon the tree? a 
proclamation ! {reads) " a thousand pounds reward 
to him who seizes the person of Charles Stuart, death 

Jio those that shelter or conceal him." Greedy blood- 
hounds, are you so keen in your pursuit ? what, pro- 

, -claimed ! marked out for death ! a price set on his 
anointed head ! off! badge of infamy, otT! nor dis- 
grace the rough honesty of an english oak, by publish- 



5^ ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

ing upon it the accursed plots of traitors and assassins. 
{tears down the proclamation with passionate vehe- 
mence^ then falls with sudden fervor on his knee) — 
Oh ! hear me, heaven ! hear your kneeling servant ! 
this day let every ill you please to send, betide both 
me and mine, drive us to beggary — to want — to death 
— but watch, preserve, and bless my king ! in grief or 
sickness cheer his drooping soul — turn all the treasons 
of his enemy to scorn, and lead him forth at last, to 
govern, comfort, and rejoice his faithful people ! (rises) 
a prayer is all the poor man has to offer, but let the 
rich and noble serve their sovereign better ! 
(Charges puts aside some boughs and lends forward) 

Char. Friend ! friend ! 

Arth. Ah ! whence comes that voice ? 

Char. Here ! here ! 

Arth. How ! from the oak ? who arc you, and 
what brings you there ? speak. 

CJiar. I am your countryman • pQr,§ecuted and in 
affliction. Have pity on me ! 

Arth. Come down. Now let mc learn, how I may 
serve you. 
{Charles descends by Arthur'^s help, and leans faintly 

against the tree) 

Char. Thanks ! thanks ! 

Arth. You seem weak and feeble— are you ill? 

Char. For many hours, I have lain concealed among 
the branches of this tree— and fatigue has well nigh 
sunk me. 

Arth. What are you ? 

Char. A cavalier ; one of the royal army who 
'scaped from Worcester fight ; on the borders of this 
forefit, I was overtaken by a party of the foe : 1 plung- 
ed into its deepest shades— quitted my horse, and 
climbing this friendly oak, remained hidden through \ 
the night even as vou found me * 

Arth. how can I do you service? 

Char, {iirect me to a place of safety. 

Arth. Whither would you go ? 



Act [Ij ROYAL OAK 33 

Char. Any where, that charity and goodness dwell ; 
whose mansion is there in the neighborhood ? 

Arth- My landlord's colonel Wyndham. 

Char Is he an honorable man ? 

Arth. It's a sign you never heard his name, you 
would not then have ask'd that question. 

Char Pardon my abruptness — will you conduct me 
to him ? 

Ar.th. Why, look'ye sir, I am not much given to 
pay compliments, but there is a something about your 
face that inclines me to think well of you. Therefore 
I will. 

Char. Again I thank yon ! but I — I — oh ! 

{he staggers with feebleness ^ Arthur catches him) 

Arth. Heavens ! you cannot support yourself — 

Char. I am weak indeed ; grant me a little food, 
or else I faint ? 

Arth. Holloa! mother! wife! holloa! 

enter dame maythor,n and claribel. 

Dame M. Lac a daisy ! boy, what's the matter that 
j'OU call thus 

Arth. Take this stranger into the cottage, and place 
every thing in your pantry before him. 

Clar. A stranger ! what's his name ? 

Arth. He is a fellow creature, and in distress ! that 
title, I trust, is sufficient to engage for him, the kind- 
ness of every feehng heart. 

Char. Worthy generous man ! If ever Charles re- 
covers his kingdom, he will reward you for this chari- 
ty to me. 

I>amc M. Come stranger, let me lead you to our 
cottage — nay, never doubt, but that I do it willingly — 
I am an old woman, it is true, but I have not lived so 
long, as to forget the first precept of a christian ; com- 
passion for the unhappy and distress ! 
\exeunt Arthur, dame M. and Charles into the cottage 

Clar, I shall not rest now, till I find out who this 
stranger may be — he told Arthur, the king would re 
ward him for his charity ; by that, he cannot be a com- 



34 ROYAL OAft [Dimond 

mon guest — dear heart ! how provoking it is, to know 
a secret exists, yet not be able to discover it. 

re enter Arthur. 

Clar. Oh! ray dear Arthur! a word with you! 

Arth Let it be a short one then — for I am in haste. 

Clar. In haste, forsooth ! whither now ? 

Arth. The cavalier has left his horse in yonder 
ihicket, I must seek for it. 

Clar. Well ! but Arthur — this cavalier — I want— 

Arth. What ? 

Clar. To know every thing about him. 

Arth Umph ! that's a modest want : Claribel I dare 
not stay, for I am now in danger. 

Clar. Oh ! the father ! in danger — of what ? 

Arth. The most trotiblesome animal in creation, au 
inquisitive woman. {exit 

Clar. Tis ever so ; he always foils me thus when I 
seek to gain a httle useful knowledge. Well, tis vain 
to puzzle my poor wits longer. Sweet rest and kind- 
ly dreams betide thee, stranger j whatsoe'er thy rank, 
rest ! warrior, rest ! 

AIR— CLARIBEL. 

He comes from the wars— from the red field of fight ! i 
He comes through the storm and the darkness of night, | 
For rest and for refuge now fain to implore | 

The warrior bends law at the cottager's door. I 

Pale — pale is his cheek — there's a gash on his brow, ' 
His locks o'er his shoulders distractedly flow. 
And the fire of his heart shoots by fits from his eye 
Like a languishing lamp— that just flashes— to die ! 
Rest — warrior, rest ! 

Sunk in silence and sleep on the cottager's bed, 
Oblivion shall visit the war-weary head — 
Perchance he may dream — but the vision shall tell 
Of his lady love's bov/er and her latest farewell ! 
Illusion and love chase the battle's alarms — 
He shall dream that his mistress lies lock'd in bis arms. 



Act IIJ ROYAL OAK 35 

He shall feel on his lip the sweet warmth of her kiss — 
Nay ! warrior, wake not— such slumber is bliss! 

Rest — warrior, rest! [exit 



SCENE III — a chamber in Wyndham' s castle. 
WYKDHAM and cav.;ndish discovered seated. 

Cav. Rouse yourself, my noble friend ! 1 conjure 
you, Wyndham ; rouse from this dfsponding sorrow ; 
learn to regard the world with kinder eye. 

JVynd 1 cannot. Cavendish, 1 cannot ! my heart is 
breaking, and despises comfort. Hope sits weeping 
in the heavens, and washes out with falling tears the 
traces of her feet on earth ! 

Cav~ Wherefore will you thus obstinately dash away 
the good you might possess ? each evening of our lives 
the sun departs through western clouds, and leaves 
mankind awhile in darkness wrapt : but his sweet 
beams in secret travel on, and once their golden jour- 
ney made, remount the sphere, to animate our earth 
with fresh delight. 

fVymd. Cool sophist ! alas ! the sun of England 
hath for ever set. The battle, round whose fate our 
last pale frighted wishes clung is lost — the choicest 
fountains of our country's blood are broken up. and 
all their purple treasure spilt in waste. Our king, un- 
done, unfriended, and unsheltered wanders forth ; — 
his title scorned, his sacred life besieged. My son 
too — my only son! ah! Cavendish, on Worcester's 

bloody field my boy perchance lies slain. Well, be 

it so ; amidst the vast account of general wo, 1 ought 
to lose the cyph.er of a private grief. 

Cav. Wyndham ! listen to me — your son still lives. 

TVynd. Cavendish ! speak you from knovi^ledge or 
•supposition ? trifle not, I pray you, with my feelings ! 

Cav. I repeat, he still lives ; he is safe ; nay, he is 
beneath your roof. 

f-Vynd, Ah ! beneath my rooF, and not within my 
arms. 



36 ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

Cav. He is row with lady Matilda in her closet : 
a mother claims the first embrace of filial love. But 
in truth, William feared to present himself before you, 
till assured the rashness of his flight would be forgiven. 

IVynd. Have I then seemed so harsh a parent ? — 
oh ! fly to him, Cavendish, bring him to me, and tell 
him, all is forgiven — all forgotten. [exit Cavendish 

TVynd. How finely, feelingly, moulded are the pas- 
sions of the human heart, and how fleeting are our most 
fierce resentments, when those we love are the offend- 
ers ! in the hour of injury we rage aloud, and threaten 
vast revenge ; but let the fancied wo o'ertake the dear 
transgressor. Oh ! in a breath, are all his faults ab- 
solved, and memory turns with trembling finger, to 
the page where his virtues only are recorded ; while 
nature falls in soft obliterating drops upon the angry 
register of errors pasti 

enter william and cavendish. 

Will, {bowing submissively) My father ! am I per- 
mitted to approach ? 

fVynd. Here ! in my arms — at my fond beating 
heart receive, and feel your answer ! William, this 
trembling pressure is the only rebuke your father uses. 
These tears which he drops upon your cheek, are all 
the punishment that he imposes. 

Will, {kneeling) Best and most beloved of men! 
accept my gratitude! 

fVynd. Nay, William, I require it not, you diso'^ey- 
ed your father, but it was to serve your king, the fa- 
ther of us all ; and in your very fault you tendered 
me your atonement. 

Will, Sir! I return into your hands this sword, it 
was your own : you conquered with it for our first 
Charles at Stratton — the trophy has not since been 
dishonored by my use, for it has guarded the bosom 
of a second Charles at Worcester. I was among those 
cavahers who rescued the prince when widely lluong- 
ing foes had snared him round, within the toils of 
death. Jnst as I reached my king's imgnarded side. 



Act IIJ ROVAL OAK 37 

a brawny slave had raised his axe to strike. My fa- 
ther's sword glittered in my hand, and his spirit, with 
avenging justice, nerved its aim — at a blow 1 cleft the 
daring traitor to the ground ' 

TVynd. Receive again the weapon, which you have 
rendered honorable, by the first achievement of your 
youth ; a parent's blessing newly sanctifies the gift. 

enter philip. 

Phil. Sir, your tenant Maythorn has brought with 
him a stranger to the castle, one of the royal party, as 
1 take it, for whom he requests a few hour's shelter un- 
derneath your roof. 

Wynd. Say, that I willingly comply, and lead them 
hither [exit Philip 

Cav. How, Wyndham ! remember that in times 
like these, tis dangerous to admit a stranger without 
precaution. Some spy of Cromwell may impose upon 
your charity to work your ruin 

Wynd. I' ven presume it so, the traitor will only 
find within my family, the unalterable love of patriot 
virtue, and an unshrinking scorn of those who mock 
its laws. These inmates I too much glory in, to hide 
from any eye. William ! prepare your mother and 
cousin to receive the stranger, whosoe'er he be, and 
give him courteous welcome, [exit fVilliam] No, 
Cavendish, no ! — charity is a portress that blesses the 
threshold where she sits, and when she would extend 
her glowing palm to grasp a supplicating wanderer, 
heaven forbid ! that cold suspicion should arrest the im- 
pulse, till all the honesty of nature lost its warmth ! 

crater MAYTHORN and charles. 

Wynd. Good morrow, Maythorn ! 

jlrth. My humble duty ! 1 respectfully present to 
you. sir, a cavalier who is persecuted, and request your 
protection. I told him the generosity of your heart, 
and that his necessities would prove sufficient claims 
to engage its friendship. 

Wynd. Arthur! you are a warm panegyrist, (to 
D 



38 ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

.Charles) Sir ! you are welcome, and what poor ser- 
vice this roof can render is very freely yours. My 
friend and neighbor, sir Edward Cavendi&h. {intro- 
duces Charles) 

Char. Accept, sir, all the return which an unfortu- 
nate but not ungrateful man can offer ; his thanks ; 
his blessing The benevolence which now encircles 
me, steals a fleeting pkasure over my anguished heart ; 
like rose leaves shedding sweetness round a canker. 

Wynd. Are you from Worcester, sir ? 

Char. Even from that disastrous field. 1 did not 
quit it till I had seen my bravest friends laid breath- 
less. 

Wynd. Is it yet known what fate has befallen the 
unhappy Char'es? 

Char. He has suffered many hardships, many per- 
ils ; but he has reached at length a place of shelter, 
and [ trust of safety 

Wynd God be praised ! may I, sir, inquire — for- 
give my questions, but curiosity in such a case seems 
venial. Upon whose information rests your report? 

Char. My own. I was with Charles when he left 
the field of battle, and ever since have been tke close 
companion of his sufferings and his dangers. 

Wynd. Happy, fortunate man ! cease to repine at 
a destiny which the proudest briton might regard with 
envy. You have remained at your monarch's side in 
his adversity, encountered for him half his wrongs, 
and soothed those sorrows you could not avert. Oh ! 
could I have bought of fate, one hour of such ex- 
alted blis!:^, I would have freely bartered the remains 
©f life. 

enter lady wyndham and elinor. 

Lady W- Wyndham ! did you not send for us ? 

Wynd. Yps, and to assist me in offices you most 
delight in ; those o^ hospitality. I present to you, 
sir, my wife and niece ; these with one son complete 
my «iiorneslic circle. 

Char. Not entirely ; you forget to mention a thon- 



Act II] ROYAL OAK 39 

sand social virtues, which move and operate within its 
hallowed round. Ladies! an ill starred man salutes 
you and with a beggar's prayer, commends his broken 
fortunes to your charity. 

Lady fV. To our friendship, sir ! you do much 
wrong, calling- our glad service by a poorer name. — • 
When noble minds vouchsafe to take a benefit, they 
confer an honor on the giver, worthier than his gift. 

enler william. 

H'ynd. My son ! be known to our guest. 

Will. Sir — ah ! great heaven ! it is the king ! 

{slaris — ihen Ufth involuntary fervor c»*ts himself 

forzcard at ChorWsfeet) 

fVynd. Eternal powers ! what said you ? 

Will, [zcit/i enthusiastic joy) Father ! it is the 
king ! it is our sovereign ! {all the characters advance, 
and fling themsdvcs in different attitudes of reverence- 
around Charles) 

Wynd. Dread sire : humbled to the earth, accept 
the homage of your subjects. 

Char, (agitated) Friends ! friends ! you forget — I 
am no more a king. 

Wynd, {with vehemence) Yes! you are our beloved 
and acknowledged king — your throne may have fallen 
in the palace, but in the hearts of your people it is fix- 
ed for ever ! — 

WUl While we live, we will be faithful ! 

Arth. On my death bed i will pronounce your name, 
and bless it ! (catches the robe of Charles, and presses 
it with fervor to h.-s lips) 

Char: Riae ! rise ! i pray you — I beseech you rise ! 
Wyndham your hand ! I weep — bal these are tears of 
ecstacy, not anguish. Cromwell ! come now, with all 
thy gorgeous mockery of greatness, blazing round 
thee, and h< re confesb the dili'trence which marks 
usurping tyrants from J'eir lawful prince I terror sup- 
ports thy throne, and blood is its cement. Love, with 
white and willing arms, embraces mine, while gooti 
men's prayers breathe incense round it. I'hoit, in the 



40 ROYAL OAK [Dimon.l 

midst of guards and hirelings, sittest suspecting, fear- 
ing, and unblest. I defenceless and alone, through 
hosts of foes, proceed with even step, bulwarked by 
loyal hearts, and guided by my god ! 

fVynd. Oh ! my sovereign ! to behold you safe, 
was all my prayer to heaven ; but that your sacred 
presence e'er should grace my roof, surpassed e'en 
hope Teach me, sire, how I may deserve this wond- 
rous bounty of ray fate. 

f'FtlL Deliver your commands ! we will execute 
them, or perish. 

Lady TV. Yes, sire, the parents and their offspring, 
both would perish ; boldly, gladiy perish in their 
monarch's cause. 

C/iar. Excellent and honorable family ! you too, 
Arthur, my humbler, but not less worthy friend ! my 
heart expands itself in fondness, and enfolds you all ! 

fVynd. This moment is the happiest of my exist- 
ence ; yet even now, a strange alloy mingles with its 
bliss, and denies my bosom perfect peace. The scouts 
of parliament are every where abroad — and though I 
dare answer with my life, for the trusty honor of my 
household, still prudence bids me fear, that in Eng- 
land, your majesty cannot long remain with safety. 

Char. From early boyhood reared in foreign climes, 
my person, save by description, is but rarely known to 
english eyes — but ere I reached your mansion it was, 
my design to gain the coast, and seek some friendly 
chance to waft me over seas 

Cav. My liege ! upon the bay below, an ancient fish- 
er dwells, who for some few bounties ( have rendered 
to his age. I think, would venture much to serve me. 
I'll to his cabin now, and unless my hopes deceive, his 
ready bark, manned with a small, but skilful crew, at 
nightfall shall await your pleasure. 

Char Sir ! I am beholden to you ever. 

Cav. Ah ! sire, withhold your thanks. In the sum- 
mer of my days, I fought and bled for your royal 
father. Winter now has overtaken me, and scattered 
^ow upon the scars of war. But let me live e'en yet. 



Act 11] ROYAL OAK 4-1 

to save my prince, sunshine will settle on my closing 
eyes, and fresh flewers of spring blossom round my 
grave [exit 

Arth A company of the parliament troops is now 
quartered in the village — 1 will dissemble with their 
officer, and endeavor to remove them on a false pur- 
suit. 

Char. My friend, be cautious — let not your honest 
aeal bH.ray you into rashness — 

Artk. Sire ! Ihe cause in which I venture now, 
animates beyond the fear of danger, and ensures suc- 
cess [exit 

Char. Generous, devoted ardor I 

Lady IV. Your majesty's wan looks express too 
truly the sufferings you have passed. May 1 not be 
permitted to offer som*^ refr^hment ? 

Char. In failh ! my kind hostets, a little rest ;vould 
moie regale me now, than al; the costiv viands luxury 
could cater. 

Lady W. This interval of quiet happily invites.-— 
Elirwr ! see an apartment instantly prepared. 

[exil Elinor 

Char, {to William) My young soldier, your hand ! 
I have not yet bestowed the j.jaise your gallant port 
deserves. In the battie-s whirling hei£;ht, I marked you 
foremost over, saccormg my fnends, and striking- 
vengeance on the foe 

Will, (modi'sfly) I fought for you, sir — 

Char. Ay ! and bled- the cut which marks your 
forehead is the counterpart of on*- that scars my own. 
As our fates are similar, may our friendship be indis- 
soluble ! Wyndham, heaven inlendi^d a recompense 
for your virtues, when it bestowed on you such a son. 

Wynd. May he never forget the praises of his sove- 
reign, he cannot then become unworthy of them. 

re-enter elinor hastily. 

Wynd. Elinor what means this agitation I 
Elin. Alas ! [ fear some heavy ill impends ; front 
ing the window of mv chamber, a crowd of savage- 
D2 



42 * ROYAL OAK [Dimondi 

looking people have assembled; they point towards 
our walls, then shake their heads distrustfully, and I 
seem to threaten vengeance. 

fVynd. Dismiss your terrors — tis but the licentious J 
spirit of the rabble — each day they congregate in herds i 
together, and bruit their strange distempered fancies — 
the mighty consultation o'er, the beasts will turn in 
ijuiet to their stalls again. 

enter arthur abruptly. 

Artk. Save yourself, my liege ! be sudden, or alJ 
is lost ! 

Char. How ! 

Arth. Your retreat is discovered — and I, unhappy 
wretch ! have been the cause. I had left your horse 
at a neighboring forge — the smith has discovered 
upon its shoes the royal arms— he has given the alarm, 
a furious mob have seized on every avenue — and offi- 
cers of parliament are hastening to search the house. 

PVynd. Bar all my gates — make fast the draw- 
bridge — arm my household. 

Arth. In vain — in vain — resistance comes too late, 
ere this the officers have reached your gates. 

Lady W. Hour of distraction ! 

fVynd. Arthur ! conduct the king to the upper 
chamber of the west tower — there, behind the tapestry 
he may lay concealed. 

Char. Oh ! Wyndham- 

Wynd. Away, sire ! rest assured, if human courage : 
can avail, you are still secure. 

[exeunt Charles and Arthur 

enter phi lip. 

PhiL Oh ! sir, the officers of parliament — 
Wynd. Well ! what mighty terror is in their 
name, to shake you thus ? lead them hither ! 

[exit Philip 
Will. Infamous murderers ! let them come ! 
Wynd. William — retire ! 
Will. How ! rov father ! 



Act II} ROYAL OAK 4>i 

Wynd. I know your temper too well to trust it 
here — therefore retire — 1 command you ! 

IVill. {bows zcit/i a mortified air) Sir, I obey. 

[exit JVilliam 

IVynd. Now, Matilda, for a noble rivalship of 
constancy, to prove us worthy of the cause we serve ! 

enter captain reubsn and soldiers. 

Capt, R. Save ye ! children of unrighteousness ! — 
repent ye of your wickedness, for the time is come. — 
Lo ! the brethren of the elect have entered the house 
of darkness, to lay hands upon the many-horned beast 
that abideth therein ; therefore I say unto thee, con- 
fess thy abominations, and deliver up the idol ! 

fVynd. Whom do you seek ? 

Capt. R. The man of sin. Yea! he that bruiseth 
the heels of the faithful. 

fVynd. You speak in riddles. I understand yoj 
not. 

Capt. R. Verily ! we seek the son of Stuart. In the 
name of the parliament, 1 command thee to discovci- 
the place where thou hast concealed him. 

fVynd. What reasons have you to presume him 
here? 

Capt. R. Vex not my spirit with vain questions — 
where hast thou concealed him ? answer me. 

JVynd. I will answer nothing. If the object of 
your quest be here, find him as you may — but bear 
with you this remembrance, VVyndham would perish, 
rather than betray an unfortunate, who had claimed 
the sanctuary of his hearth for shelter. 

Capt. R. Audacious traitor ! search the house I {to 
his soldiers) 

Sold. Captain, :!ig houses of these royalists are so 
full of hiding-places, that though Charles Stuart h^ 
here, we may search till doomsday, and not discover 
him ; besides, none of us are acquainted with his per- 
son. 

Capt. R. The secret shall be disclosed. Seize up- 



44 ROYAL O^K [Dimond 

on him! (guards seize Wyndliam) Now, caitiff, 
tremble and obey ! 

IVynd. {contemptuously) TIa ! ha! 

Capt. R ( powts a swurd at his breast) Confess ! 
or this moment is your last. 

IVynd Strike, assassin, strilce ! with my dying 
breath, I will bequeath a b'«ssing to my king, and 
curse the traitors who usurp his rights 

Capt R. Nay. then thy b!ood be upon thy head — 

Lady W. Hoid ! barbanane^. monsbrs hold' lock- 
ed in each others' arms the husband and the wiff> will 
both expire t fc/rn^s hetsclf tipop fJ'>.,7i'-7iam-s breasf^ 
while Elinor kneels to Reuben) Now . rrffiivi. strike, 
our innocent b'onr! shall start in mutual streams, and 
we will Hie tos;etbe'. 

Capt. R Relrase your hold ! 

Lady IV. Never ! in life, in death, my Wyndham, 
I am thine ! 

Capt. R. Force them apart ! 

Lady fV. Av ay. inbumans! to the last of nature, 
I will ciasp his torrn 

fVynd. The blessing o<' god be with thee, my Ma- 
tilda ! (thi'y ore forced asunder) 

Capt. R Vain woman, mark ! 'is thou that must de- 
cide thy husban'} s fate ; at thy wo:d, he lives or dies. 

Lady f^V Oh ! horror ! horror ! 

Cap^ R. Co fess — and he is safe. Deny me, and 
he falls a corpse. 

Lady TV Drive me not mad! 

Capt R Determine this moment, or I strike ! 

Lady fV (aside) Tisfull of horror, but it must be 
so. Man ! swear to me, that my husband shall be safe, 
and I will deliver up your victim, 

IVy-'d. Matilda' 

Capf R I give the oath ; lead us to the spot, 

Lar?y IV. I Will bring him before you. 

IVynd Mati'da ! h^'ar me : 

Lady fV. S.^a- not; I am wild, I am desperate; 
hut I will save mv husband 

Capt. R. Be sudden — our revenge is hungry. 



Act III ROYAL OAK 46. 

Lady fV. But a moment— and I return ! {exH 

IVynd. {distractedly) Matilda ! wife ! partner of 
my. bosom ! turn, I charge you ; I command you, turn ! 
oh ! infamy and guilt ! dishonor and eternal shame ! 
triumph, ye fiends— ay! triumph, for now indeed the 
soul of Wyndham sinks — let me not live till she re- 
turns, nor till the hateful light discovers to my blasted 
ey<^s, a traitress in the woman whom I loved. Nay- 
kill me now, for death is mercy ! 

Capt R Thou forgettest ; I have sworn an oath to 
let thee live ; but be of heart, Cromwell may reward 
thee. 

Wynd. Reward! reward! wretch! I tell thee — oh! 
bitterness of scorn ! just heaven ! smite the bloated vil- 
lain dead, who, lost to thee, and false to nature's plan, 
would store his coffers with the price of blood, climb 
up to greatness on his sovereign's fall, or seek for hon 
ors midst his country's shama. 

retnUr lady wyndham. 

Wynd. Woman ! what hast thou done ? 

Lady IV. A cruel deed — yet one my soul approves. 

Capt. R Where is Iha sinful one ? 

Lady W I have fulfilled my promisp. The sacri- 
fice is prepared ; but oh ! in making it, as I have a 
soul, I swear, I part with every hope of happiness on 
earth. 

Capt. R. Produce him ! bring him forth ! 

Lady IV. He comes — behold your victim here ! 

enter william. mufjied in a cloak — he advances witk 
a firm commanding step., and fixes his eye disdain- 
fully upon Reuben. 

IVill, Who is he that dares demand my presence 1* 
Elin Heavens ! that voice — surely you would not — 
Lady JV. {catches her hand, and motions xcith au- 
thority) Silence! 

Elm. Oh ! god ! he is lost for ever ! {she sinks 
senseless into Wyndham" s arms) 
Capt. R. Who art thou ? . 



46 • ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

Will. One not born to stand within the dread of 
slaves like Lh<^e. 

Capl R An thou not Chailes Stuart ? 

IVUL 1 do not acknowledge any power, that should 
bid ine ai?wer. 

So^d. Observe that scar upon his forehead ! even 
such a on- we are told, J>iuait received in the battle. 

Capt. R Obdurate rebel! if thou wilt not answer 
us. our gi^neiai shall iind a wuy to make thee speak. 
Sir Thoavas Fairfax's quaiLers are but six miles dis- 
tant- -drag hioi along ! 

Wiil. i^oft —one moment — and 1 follow. — (he 
takes Elinor's lifeless hand, and press's it betwee^i his 
own) — Lltnor ! swiet Eimor !— a short forgetfulness 
hail' stolen away thy senv'i of misery. — Ah ! that such 
d-^a- a cons, i.iusne's m-ght be thine for ever; but no, 
thou will watie. wilt thine, and then — Oh god ! sir — 
mci.->am ! — when 1 am gone, by aJ your love for me, I. 
pray you, cherish this innocent drooping flower — and 
It'L ;< ur kml pity, as the dew from heaven, fall upon 
an<l n^'al her sorrows ! 

Cap i. R W^ cannot grant a longer parley. 

Wifl Reptiles ! I come ! 

Lady IV, See — her ^. n;e returns — 

fVi/l May ! t!ien inde-d { must begone— one last, 
fond. de>pairing pressure — [kisses her hand wich fer- 
vor)— ^ow — god be wi li yon — farewcil — farewell ! — 
{he wraps his face within the cfot'k, and hurries from 
the ap'jr(7nt7it — the soldiers follow) 

EUn {recovering ) Where have ! been? — my sen- 
ses suie have wandered — or was it but a dream ? 

Larly fV. My ;Jinor! — my poor child ! — 

Elin. Ah ! you arc here— and you ; {to ^Vyndham) 
but 1 see not William — where is he ? {/ooks zviidly 
round) 

Wynd Unhappy maid ! 

El>n. You will not answer me — you turn your faces 
from me. and vou weep '— ah ! then it was r^al ! — and 
cow ihe honid truih flashes upon tity brain : — which 
way have they borjie him ? whither is he gone ? 



ActH] ROYAL OAK 47 

Lady TV. To glon' — to eternal fame. 
• Eltn. Say rather to destruction — to a scaffold.— 
{shouts artt heard in the court y ird)—\VAvk ! the fu- 
rious rabble seize upon my love, and rude'y rend his 
genllo fram'.^ — now an hundred dagijceis ^!or(•e his 
breast, his biood flows, he falls, he dies. Oh ! save him ! 
sa-'e liim ' 

Lady fV. Dearest Eiinor ! 

Elm Away ! unnatiira parents ; you have sacrificed 
your son ; but I am fiithful to him stili ; and even in 
death will share his fate — 

Lady IV. S'rusfg'e ihus n^t vamly — 

El'in Hence! h'^nc*.' ! my despairing cries shall 
call both man and god to aid me ; unhand me ; !et ine 
loose: nay then, pierce me to the heat— and lei me 
die at owc^, —{dasher herself upon the floor — lady 
Wyndham kneels beside her) 

enttr Charles. 

Char. Speak — my friends — what mean these fearful 
shrieks and this diead aiiony of sorrow ? — on every 
side, I hear strange voices shout •' the !.ing is taken l-' 
— and even now, I saw my furious foes d'ag bevond 
your gates some wretched prisoner. — Explain these 
mysteries— speai: ! 

Elin. (feebly raising her head) O ! king, he is gone, 
he is lost for cer. and for you. is he sacrificed ; — 

Char. For me ? just heavens !— who ? 

Elin. My love, my life, my vvoi Id. my William ! 

Char. Immortal powers !-— can this be real — speak ! 

IVynd IVly sovereign is preserv d ! ' 

Lady TV We have ios^ our child, — but we have 
saved our country ! 

Char. Oh ! glorious yet dreadful virtu;^ ! — he was 
your ion, your only son ; yet for me you have devoted 
him : but think not I will accept the bloody sacrifice — 
no ! never ! never ! 

Wynd. Gracio!is sire — 

Char. Peace, Wyndham — peace ! — T value life bu^ 
prize my honor — dearer far. — Whither have thev bor 
him ? 



48 ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

Lady W. To the tent ef Fairfax— 
Char. Fairfax ! — Fairfax I — ha ! the ring !— the 
ring ! {impetuously presses a jewel upon his Jinger to 
his lips) — Yea! now indeed this gem is precious ' — 
afflicted parents ! your offspring shall return to claim 
our blessing— Elinor ! the beloved of thy heart shall 
gain enfold thee in his arms — 
Elin. {with transport) Bless thee ! — O ! bless thee, 
king ! 

Char. I fly to save my friend, or perish by his 
side. - [rushes out 

Wynd. {frardickly) Hold, my prince! my sove- 
teign ! hold ! 

{exit after Charles — Elinor starts from the ground^ 
and flings herself into the arms of lady fVynd- 
ham — the curtain falls rapidly upon the scene 

END OF THE SECOND ACT. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I — a tent, lights burning, 
enter taikfax and guards with william. 

Fair, {as he enters) Bring him along ! — insolent 
and presumptuous ! what madness could have promptr 
ed you to mock our just revenge? 

jrai. The inborn love of virtue, and an hereditary 
scorn of tyrants. 

Fair. Miserable youth ! for whose sake have you 
vGnfured thus ? 

nill. For England 2ind my king. 

Fair. You are lost. 

fVill. True— but they are saved. 

Fair. You will suffer. 

fl'lll. No — I shall triumph. 

Fair. Whal can you expect? 

fVill. Death ! haply a death of torture ; but 
certainly a death of glory. 



Act III] ROYAL OAK 49 

Fair. Wretched visionary ! — confine him within the 
next tent. Look that he be strictly guarded — 1 charge 
you, on your lives, to keep him safe. 

fVill. O ! sir, tear them not — I have no gold to 
bribe their avarice ; and they who serve a cause like 
yours, disdain to feel the weakness of compassion. 

Fair, Bear him away. 

Will. I leave you, sir — yet from my green despised 
youth, perchance your riper age, might glean a les- 
ion to improve its judgment. — 1 go, bereft of every 
earthly hope— still doth content sit smiling at my 
heart To him, who perishes in honor's arms, chains 
become trophies. Racks seem but as the martyr's 
throne of bliss, and death itself, is the simple passport 
to eternal life ! — \exit 

Fair. Surprizing, awful lovely virtue !— which I 
am doomed at once to punish and revere. How now ! 
— whence this intrusion ? 

enter reuben. 

Capt. R. General, a stranger, who refuses to dis- 
close his name or person, presents himself before the 
tent, and demands to speak with you in private ; he 
sends this ring, to prove the importance of his errand. 

Fair. A rich and costly gem ! ah ! — let me view it 
closer — it is — it is — yea! that very ring, which late on 
Worcester field — instant conduct the stranger hither ! 

\^dxit Reuben 

enter charles disguised^ he wears a helmet zcith the 
visor dozen, an officer conducts him, and then retires. 

Char, {agitated) Am I in the presence of sir Thom- 
as Fairfax ? 

Fair. You are ; what would you with me ? 

Char. First, does Fairfax recognise that ring ? 

Fair. Assuredly, it was my own. In the late bat- 
lie's raging height, divided from my friends, a sturdy 
peasant struck me to the ground ; sudden a passing 
voice was heard, ' Forbear / forbear ! Irt Fairfax 
E 



50. • ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

live /'—the conquering peasant liateined and obeyed ; 
stunned and confused. I saw not my protector, but 
my heart felt all his charity ; to the soldier's hand I 
ga\e this ling, and bade him to his generous captain 
bear the token, that should uncertain fortune e'er re- 
verse our state — 

Char. Fairfax ! that hour of change already hath 
arrived ; my voice but late preserved thy life, it claims 
anoth»^r's safety now of thee. Say, will Fairfax re- 
deem his pledge ? 

Fair. Frankly, joyfully; but remove your visor, let 
me view your face. 

Char. Excuse me ; I have a reliance upon your 
honor, and request to remain concealed. 

Fair. Well, your confidence in me shall not be dis- 
appointed, 1 press no further. Now, to your claim 

Char. I come, an humble suitor to you ; from a 
despairing father, who sits and groans in speechless 
agony ; from a heart broken mother, whose scalding 
tears, fall fast as rains from heaven ; from a distracted 
bride, who menaces with frantic hands her own exist- 
ence. « 

Fair. How say you ? instruct me further. 

Char. You have a prisoner, William Wyndham ; ; 
for him these groans, these tears, this agony of pas- 
sion sue. 

Fair. Indeed ; then I am concerned to answer, they 
must sue in vain. 

Char. How ! 

Fair. I feel my obhgation to you, and on your owni 
account, whatever boon you might demand were; 
granted ; but this prisoner has committed an offence,, 
I dare not pardon. 

Char. Can no prayers move your heart to pity? 

Fair. Not when justice bars my bosom. My duty^ 
to the cause I serve, forbids consent. 

Char. Is he then devoted past recall ? will no sacri- 
fice be accepted for him ? 

Fair. None ; unless you could offer in his place,] 
the victim of whom his insolent fraud has deprived us. 



Act III] ROYAL OAK il 

Char. Ha ! then if Charles Stuart even yet were 
yielded to your power, you would release your pris- 
oner. 

Fair. Yes, upon that condition alone, I would ex- 
tend my pardon. 

Char. Fairfax ! promise me this, upon a soldier's 
honor? 

Fair. Willingly, I pledge my word ; let Charles 
Stuart become my prisoner, and Wyndham shall be 
free. 

Char. The CO npact be sacred! behold your hostage 
here! {removes the visor) 

Fair Ha! Stuart himself .^ {starts back in aslon- 
ishment) 

Char Here gaze and glut your satisfied revenge ? 
behold the persecuted, the devoted, but still the royal 
Stuart stands before you! 

Fair. Amazement ! 

Chur. \y ! even in that hated foe, thy vengeance 
now pursues to death, beho'd the very man whose 
mercy rescued thee from fate VVhat force or fraud 
essayed in vam. the feelings of his own heart have 
effected for thee ; here, self betrayed, self sacrificed, 
he stands a ready victim, panting to peris'i at the shrine 
of friendship ; gratitude and godlike honor. 

(Fairfax pauses for a moment, irresolute and refect- 
ing, then goes to the side of the stage, and speaks 
aloud) 

Guards ! conduct hither the prisoner from the next 
tent! 

Char. Oh! let me but fold my friend once more 
within these arms, and senJ him to rejoice his mourn- 
ful home, then fortune 1 defy thy hate ! 

{a guard conducts willi am to the entrance of the tent) 

Will. For what frcish trials am I yet reserved ? 
Char. William ! my friend ! 

Will. Ah! my sovereign {rushes into Charleses 
arms J then starts from them again with sudden hot- 



62 ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

ror) alas ! what baleful star has led you to this place ? 
wherefore are you come ? 

Char. VVillian, away! your ransom is accepted, 
and your anxious family invoke your speed. 

Fair. Hold I he does not pass. 

Ckar. How ! have you not pledged a sacred prom- 
ise ? 

Fair. I recall that promise ; the same fate shall now 
attend you both, 

CAar. Oh ! execrable perfidy ! 

IFill. Ah ! my prince, you have undone uS both ; 
my death will now be bitterness, and my blood will 
flow in vain. 

Char. Fairfax ! you cannot mean it, you are not 
such a villain. 

Fair. I am fixed, beyond the power of man to sway 
me. I repeat, the same fate shall attend you both ! 
what ho ! officer ! 

enter Officer. 

Fair. Give instant orders, that the two strangers, 
who presently will quit my tent, may pass in safety 
and unquestioned through the camp. leril Officer 

Will. How! 

Char. What said he ! 

Fair, {with impressive dignity) Stuart ! I am an 
enemy to your person ; but I am also a friend to honor, 
and scorn to conquer by the virtues of my foe. 

Char. Fairfax! 

Fair. Hold ! the secret of our discourse must never 
be divulged. Remember, six hours hence, i become 
again your enemy ; at present, you both are free to 
pass. 

Char. Oh! generous — 

Fair. No answer ! there lies your way ! {he waves 
his hand vo'ilh authority^ then exit — Charles and JVil- 
Ham depart on the opposite side 



Act HI] ROYAL OAK 53 

SCENE 1 1 — IVyndhaTrC s castle. 

enter lady wyndham, wtth a slow and languid step. 

Lady IV. Moments rolJ on — hours pass away — 
My William ! son of my bosom : art thou still living ! 
or has the tatai axe already lalien upon that necl. where 
I ha> c kissed a thousand times ? oh thou who wert 
so late my joy, my pride, aiy blooming boast ; how 
can 1 bear to see thy noble torm jstrciched cold in 
death, a bloody and distigured corpse ? let me not 
think, upon-t, twill drive me mad ! {she sinks upon h&r 
knee) fountain of mercy ! to thee, a sorrow stricken 
wretch, 1 spread my empty arms, o ! restore my child 
to their eaibrace, or grant my death, and bid me 
clasp him in the grave ! 

a door o^ ens be/iind, and wyndham appears support- 
ing KLiNOR s/ie observes the attitude of lady 

Wyndham, tottering fetbiy forwards, kneels by 
her Side) 

Elm. Mother of my William ! join my hands with 
yours, and teach me how to pray ! 

Lady W. Unhappy innocent ! the anguish of a 
breaking heart writes in its tears a prayer, and heaven 
interprets every sigh. 

JV. {raising i/iem) Matilda ! my best love — where- 
fore are you from your chamber — the night is almost 
spent-- will you not seek repose ? 

Lady fV. Repose ! ah ! Wyndham, teach me 
where to find repose ? 

fVynd. In your husband's arms. 

Lady fF, Ay, 1 could rest ihere once : sweetly, 
calmly rest; but now : no, Wyndham, no — I cannot 
rest now ; 1 feci that within, which tells me, I shall 
i^ever rest again ! 

fVynd. Beloved partner of my past joys and pres- 
ent sorrows, it Airings my heart to view thee thus. 

Lady f'V Oh ! my son, how did I rejoice when thou 
wert born— how did 1 gaze upon thy little laughing 
E 2 



54 ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

looks, and fondly prophesy a long futurity of bliss — 
Thy unfolding youth ne'er showed one vicious speck 
— thou wert loving, kind, and duteous ever ; all that 
a child could prove, or parent hope. Thou never gavest 
thy moilier cause to hate thee — yet she cast thee off 
— she betrayed thee to the slaughter, and her hands 
rang thy knell ! but think ye that 1 loved him not ? — 
tis false— -I did — I did— he was my world— the blood 
which warmed my heart — the breath by which J lived ; 
and in the forgetful shades of death, his image and ray 
soul must sink together ! 

JVynd. Thou dear unhappy one ! heaven sees my 
heart, and reads how much J pity thee. 

Lady W. {zciih gloomy triumph) Oh ! I am p»st 
pity — I despair ! 

Wynd. (takes her hand^ and speaks with solemn 
emphasis) Not so, Matilda ! place we our trust with 
him who is above, and though v;e grieve we never 
must despair. 

Lady IV. True — most just rebuke, Bui heaven 
will pardon a weak wretched woman, whose miseries 
have well nigh crazed her brain. 1 cannot but re- 
member, I had once a treasure, and now feel that I 
have lost it. Every thing around me, preserves the 
cruel sense of my calamity. Each apartment I enter, 
all the objects 1 look upon, remind me of my poor 
lost boy. In yonder chamber, till this night, Wil- 
liam has slept for sixteen years. Unconscious of my 
actions, 1 run to seek him there — all is dark and soli- 
tary — I listen for the sound of his breath as he sleeps 
-—tis silence ! I call upon his name — he answers not, 
he hears not : then sudden as the lightning's flash the 
fatal truth shoots upon remembrance, and strews my 
brain with madding fires I shriek aloud — stretch forth 
my arms in agony, and strive to clasp ideal substance 
in the vacant air ! ( falls back exhausted) 

Wynd. Visit her with soothing aids, just heaven ! — 
(a clamor is heard without; 

Elin. Hark ! what sounds were those ? 



Act IIIJ ROYAL OAK 65 

f-Vynd. The shouts of men — and at an hour like 
this 

Elin. Perchance, the ministers of vengeance have 
returned, to claim iresh victims for their savage hate. 
Welcome, ye murderous crew ! my bosom pants to 
rush upon jour swords, and meet my love in the 

abodes of death ! ha ! {she springs towards the 

door — CHARLES enters, and catches her hand) 

CJiar. (exultingly) Elinor ! have 1 not performed 
my promise ? {points to william, who enters at the 
moment — she shrieks^ and falls into his arms) 

IVill. My love— my parents — I am yours again. 

Lady JV. Then my prayers are heard, and heaven 
^ards the virtuous still ! 

fVynd. My son — my sovereign, both restored ! — 
ecstacy strikes upon the sense too keen, ^nd scarcely 
can I bear my bliss. 

Char. To an enemy — a generous one, we owe our 
happiness. William will recount the tale hereafter — 
moments are precious to me now. The morning star 
already lifts her lamp, and ere another hour be told, I 
must afar, or else am lost again. 

Wynd. My liege, at midnight, Cavendish informed 
me by a messenger, a vessel rode at anchor in the bay, 
ready to catch the breeze, and waft you from this fatal 
shore. 

Char. Blest hearing — let us be sudden, dearest 
friends, else day-light will o'ertake our steps. 

Wynd. Fear not, prince ! the danger of discovery is 
past— our path lies through my own domain — one sin- 
gle cabin stands upon the beach, and save the soHtary 
fisher, as he spreads his nets, scarcely an human form 
at busiest hour frequents the spot. 

Char. Has the good Cavendish prepared . 

IVyjid. Every thing — and fortune prospers his de- 
sign. The wind blows fresh for France, where your 
majesty may safely dwell, and gain fresh armies to as- 
sert your cause. 

Char. ]No, Wyndham ! never may such shame be 
mine ! if e'er in happier hour, I sit on England's 



56 ROVAL OAK [Diraond 

throne, the willing impu'se of my countrymen shall 
raise me to that envied seat ; no aids from vaunting 
France shall help to place me there. By heaven ! I 
would not for my soul's price, see an insulting foreign- 
er, stamp his proud foot upon my sacred native soil ! 
beloved Albion ! though I be exiled from thy pleasant 
shore, may heaven rain its graces on thy lap, and 
freedom, through thy wild wood bowers, a never sli^ep- 
ing genius rove ! advance yet new armadas 'gainst thy 
sea clasped bounds, the sword of god be girded on thy 
warriors' side^ to strike invaders back into the surge ! 

[exeunt 



SCENE III — a bay encircled by rocks— a vessel rides 
at anchor in the distance^ a small fishing h'lt upon 
one side, beside which lies a quantity of tattered 
sail cloth — the twilight immediaiely precedent to the 
dawn, rests grayly upon the differen objects of the 
scene — 1st soldier appears upon the rocks, and after 
looking cautiously round, whistles softly. 

1st Sol. Hist 1 Martin ! hist ! art wakeful ? 

2d Sol. {lifting aside the sail-cloth) Ay, as a fam- 
ished night-bird hovering o'er its prey. Come down 
upon the beach — none can overhear. The gossipers 
all left the hut but now, and ramble at some distance 
along the castle road. 

1st Sol. What is their number ? 

2d Sol. As yet only three — a man with two fe- 
males. They have prattled kindly — under the sail- 
cloth yonder, in the darkness I listened to their whole 
discourse. 

1st Sol, What hast gleaned from it ? 

2d Sol. All 1 could wish — the prize will certainly be 
ours — they seem to wait anxiously, but for some fresh 
arrival, a flag will then be hoisted at the cliff's point 
— at that signal a boat puts off from the vessel and 
rows to shore. 

1st SoL Our ambush commands the landing-place. 



Act III] ROYAL OAK 57 

2d Sol. Ay, lad! then one bold effort, and our 

purpose stands secqre. {a whistle) Kaik ! they 

wlijstle from the sWiff— day breaks apace — they grow 
impatient. 

ist Sol. Comrade, 1 can hear voices from the right. 

2d Sol. Ha ! they whom we watch return — let's 
mount the rock, and join our comrades in the cave — 
swift — swift — nay swifter — they are close at hand ! 

lexcunt 

enter ari hvr, dame maythorn, and claribel. 

Dame M. Well a day ! Arthur, my mind misgives 
me sorely ; I am sure gome woful disaster must have 
befallen the king. 

^rth. Plague on't, mother, I believe you take de- 
light in terrifying people. 

Dame M. Way, boy, look if the sun be not rising 
above the ocean ! it was midnight when the messen- 
ger went to the castle, and ever since we have been 
waiting yonder, in the fisher's hut, for his return. 

Clar. Ay ! our plot has cerlamly been discovered. 

Arih. Confound your croaking tongues ! had I 
guessed what lively companions you were like to 
prove, you should e'en have tarried behind me at the 
farm. 

Dame Bl. JSot so either, boy ; old as I am, I would 
have hobbled hither barefoot, for the chance of once 
more looking on my king — bless his sweet face! wha 
could have thought it, when he sat so meek and 
gracious, in our poor cot, praising my cookery, and 
drinking to my health, that it was a prince for whom 
I spread the board. 

enter cavp^ndish hastily, xolih two attendants. 

Cav. Arthur I give the signal to the boatsmen in- 
stantly—the king is on his way. 
Arth, Ah ! sir, is it certain ? 
Cav. These frowi the castle, breathless with speed, 



58 ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

e'en now precede his steps. What women are those ? 

Arth Creatures of my own, i§\v — somewhat given 
to torment upon occasion, but ^ood subjects in the 
main. They come to steal a farewell look. 

Cav. Tis well. Look that his majesty meet no de- 
lay when he arrives — I go to meet him ! [exit 

Arth, There you miserable brace of croakers' what 
say you now ? huzza ! our sovereign will be preserved, 

and we shall gain immortal credit in his service. 

(Arthur runs towards the hut,, snatches up a tattered 
Jiag which lays btside the door,, then ascends a pro- 
jection of the roc/cSf and waves it as a signal to- 

zcards the vessel) 

Clar. Happy moment ! 

OLD BALLAD — CLARIBEL. 

Skies are all clear 

And the blue wave is near, 
To waft thee from danger, sweet Charley ! 
Tis over the water and over the lea 
And over the water goes Charley ! 

A day and a night 

Shall scarce take their flight, 
Ere England again calls for Charley — 
Then over the water and over the lea, 
And over the water comes Charley ! 

Charley must roam 

Yet a while from his home, 
A stranger beyond the salt billow — 

But the hour soon shall come 

When the beat of his drum. 
False roundheads shall scare from their pillow. 

Huzza ! for the crown 

When the rebel is down — 
And huzza ! for our own royal Charley ! 

Sail home with thy peers 

And spruce cavaliers. 
Old England shall welcome her Charley .' 



Act III] ROYAL OAK 59 

{all the characters join enthusiastically in the bur- 
den of the ballad at the close of each verse — and 
during the period a boat puts off from the ship ^ 
xchich rows out of sight behind the rocks, as if 
coasting round the bay— the sun gradually rises at 
the same time) 

Dame M. Hist ! Claribel —they come — I see the 



enter charles, wyndham, lady matilda, Wil- 
liam, a7id ELitiOR, preceded by cavendish. 

Cav. No further ! here, sire, we have reached the 
appointed spot. 

Char. Thanks to heaven and my friends ! ha ! Ar- 
thur, Hes the boat at hand ? 

Arth. (from the rock) Sire! it has put off— but 

yonder rock hides it from my view. I will run down 

the beach, and bid the rowers hasten. [exit 

Char. Here then, dear friends, we part— (^i^Aj) — 

perchance, for ever ! 

Wynd. Sire ! I hold a better hope. 
Char. God speed it ! o! Wyndham, a pang of bit- 
terness is laboring at my heart, which chains the 
mounting spirit down, and tempts me half to hide my 
face and weep. Banishment from the dear land which 
gave us birth, is something, and might ask a sigh ; but 
when the long divorce of time and space, parts friends 
from friendship's source, and sunders kindred souls, 
whose thoughts and senses marry with each otherj 
grief becomes proud, and claims a nobler triumph. 

Wynd My sovereign, hence with these diseased 
thoughts ! vye shall meet again — a glad prophetic 
spirit warms within my breast, and cries, " the un- 
born day full soon shall dawn in golden pride, des- 
tined to shine on Charles as England's king." 

Char. If ere that day indeed arrive ; my friend, 
wait not till cold ceremonies may announce my love — 
but come thou boldly to my throne, and speak the 



60 ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

name of Wyndham — oh ! at that sound, my heart will 
teach me, how to answer. 

Lady ^F". Arthur i:eturns— he hastens o'er the 
beach ! 

Char. Then the precious moments are completed — 
and now, friends, we must teach our h'ps to shape 
" farewell!" 

enter arthur, wildly. 

Arlk. My king! turn from this fatal spot—advance 
no further, or you pass to your destruction ! 

All How! 

Arth. Just as the rowers made to land, a band of 
armed men, who had lain concealed among the hoi 
lows of the rock, sprang from their ambush, and seized 
upon the boat. 

Lady JV, Disastrous chance! fly, sire! while yet 
you have power to regain the castle. 

fVynd. (looking out) Ha! above the rocks, I per- 
ceive the gleaming habits of soldiers 

Lady W. They point this way — they see us ah ! 

they draw their swords, and now they rush toward us ! 

Char. Then I am discovered, and must fall their 
sacrifice. 

IVill. Not while these veins can bleed in your de- 
fence ! 

Char. William, forbear. Friends, I charge you, I 
commaftd you, offer no resistance. One is enough to 
perish, and the dark lot is cast for me ! 

Lady W. (frantickly) They come ! they come ! 

Char. Let them advance — here will 1 stand, and 
brave my fate ! 

( Charles draws his sword — several armed men appear 
upon the rock — their leader rushes furiously upon 
Charles— yist at the instant their swords encounter 
he recognizes the king, and starting back exclaims) 

The king ! it is the king ! 

{(he stranger flings back his helmet ^ and discovers ih^ 
person of lord Wilmot) 



Act III] ROYAL OAK 61 

fViim. Ah! has your majesty forgotten me? 
Char. My friend! VViimot! speak, what miracle 
restores you to me ? 

fVtlm. Sire ! after I parted from you last, \ rode 
towards the coast, and lay concealed among the rocks, 
which skirt this bay, watching to surprise some heed- 
less bark, and venture o'er the wave for happier shore, 
e'en now with such intent, I seized a boat, but recked 
not that my sovereign might dispute the prize. 

Char Yon band of warriors then 

Wilm. Humble, but loyal followers, who gallantly 
refused to quit my fortunes, till they had seen me hap- 
pily embarked. 

Char. Have w ith thee friend ! brother in exile, com* 
rade of my foreign course ; one same star will beam 
its influence on our common fate, {the bont appears 
in front) Now, then aboard ' nay, stand not upon 
ceremonies — 1 will follow ! ( fVi/mot enters the boat) 
Wvndham! Cavendish, beloved ones! whilst I retain 
a heart, or hold one human sense within my bosom, 
gratitude must survive and bless you for the life you 
have preserved. 

fVynd. My prince I in weal or wo — radiant with 
triumph, or darkened by defeat, the faithful subject's 
prayer waits on a virtuous monarch still. 

Lady f'V' Oft will our thoughts, like pilgrims, turn 
from home ! and rove, devoutly bent, o'er foreign 
realms, to reach their worshipp'd shrine in thee ! 

Char. Ye dearest, truest friends ! {dame Mayihorn 
has crept toxcards Charles., and attempts to take his 
yo5e — Charles perceives her) ah! my old kind host- 
ess ! 

Dame M. Sire ! grant that I may kneel, and kiss 
the hem of your garment! 

Char. No. The knees of age bend only unto god ! 
{extends his hand) 

Dame M. Your hand ! {kisses it fervently) ah ! 
forgive me, a tear has fallen upon it. 

Char. Precious, drop of love ! woman I the tear, 
which nature sheds in honest fondness, blesses where 
F 



62 ROYAL OAK [Dimond 

it falls; and dearer do 1 prize this little trembling 
crystal, than the imflawed paragon of India's mine? 
my heart is full — the sweet assurance of my people's 
love, swells it wi^h a pure unmixed sensation. I can- 
not utter as I would, " farewell !" but, be the wing 
of the all- high, stretched over you, my friends, to prove 
your shadow and your shield for ever ! think of me 
when I am gone — sometimes repeat my name — and — 
nay, bless you ! bless you — and farewell ! [he enters 
the boat, Arthur kneels and holds the plank by which 
he passes) 

AIL Farewell ! 

Char, (from the boat) A long — a last adieu ! {he 
jlings himself overcome by his feelings, into the arms 
of fVilmot — the boat goes off) 

FINALE. 

Sweet prince, farewell ! and o'er thy way 
On unseen wing , good spirits stray ! 
Be theirs, the kind delightful care 
From blast or storm to purge the air. 
To show the rock's insidious head, 
Disclose the quicksand's fatal bed. 
To set blest spells on ocean's breast, 
And charm the tempest fiend to rest. 

{the boat reaches the ship — Charles, 8,-c. ascend the 
deck — the sails are spread, and the vessel gets under 
weigh) 

The anchor weighs ! the white sails swell ! 
She clears the bay ! sweet prince, farewell ! 

{the vessel sails gradually out of sight — the characters 
which remain dispose themselves in various atti- 
tudes of pensive pleasure, or pious exu'tation — the 
last cadence of their voices trills upon the ear, and 
the curtain drops upon the scene precisely as the ves- 
sel disappears) [exeunt omnes. 

THE END OF THE ROYAL OAK. 



TO THE COMET 



*' O spkndissima cometa .'" 

*' jnu bella assal che'l sole." 

PETRARCA CANZONE, I2mA: 

Splendid stranger! of the sky, 
Thou unlook'd for didst appear ; 

Rapid round the pole dost Hy ; 
Welcome art thou to our sphere. 

Along the lofty vaulted way, 

As thy majestic course 1 view, 
Thy tresses with delight survey, 

Where, faint, a star oft glimmers through. 

Bright hair'd stranger ! in what skies, 
What unknown system, distant far. 

Does thy outstretch'd orbit rise ? 
And whither tend, thou lovely star ? 

From where creation first begun, 
Didst thou take thy distant flight ? 

To pay your homage to our sun. 
And bathe your tresses in his light ? 

Or to count each sparkling star 
That glitters in our hemisphere ? 

Or view the moon with silvery car, 
Her phases change in her career ? 

Or comest thou to behold our globe ? 

Each difF'rent clime, and changing scene,. 
View her in winter's snowy robe ? 

In summer's flowery mantle green ? 

-Or dost thou floods and earthquakes bring ? 

Or comest to wrap in flames the world ? 
As round thy lustrous hair doth fling, 

In tby eccentric orbit burl'd. 



64 TO THE COMET. 

Splendid stranger ! not for this 

Thou sought'st our planetary bound ; 

Not for mortal's wo or bliss. 

Thou wavest thy beamy locks around. 

Not to bathe thy hair of gold, 

In the effulgent flood of light ; 
^Nor on her car the moon behold ! 

Or count the stars that deck the night 

Not to view our little earth, 

And see successive seasons change, 

See nature die, renew her brth, 
Dost thou here remotely range- 

For HE, whose gilding hand restrains, 
And to one sun or globe confined. 

Each COMET in its orbit reins, 
By diff 'rent laws to them assign'd. 

No void : — creation all doth fill ; 

Systems, round systems endless roll 
Harmonious to the sov'reign will 

Of HIM, who form'd, who rules the whole,, 

Scatter, ye winds, yon dun-robed cloud, 
Gathering in many a misty fold. 

That would the splendid stranger shroud, 
With his radiant locks of gold. 

Thou moon, full-orb'd, withdraw thy rays ; 

Conceal them with a sombre veil ; 
For thy fixt and ardent gaze 

Makes the beauteous stranger pale. 

Stately ! stranger, is thy march ! 

Turn'd from the sun thy long hair streams 
O'er night's blue bespangled arch, 

And gilt with his resplendent beams. 

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Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: March 2009 

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